Until the Last Cannon Fires
by LittleSchemer
Summary: Even after 90 years of Hunger Games, the Capitol's thirst for blood is yet to be quenched. 24 tributes must enter the arena, knowing only one of them can emerge alive. But the 91st arena is darker than ever - will even the victor be able to stay sane?
1. Chapter 1

**Ade Wysor – District Nine**

"Ade, stop fidgeting," Crescentia said as she adjusted her son's tie.

Ade pulled away from her and loosened his tie again. She'd done it up so tightly it was almost strangling him, and he'd really rather not die. She tutted and reached towards him but he flinched away, shooting her a harsh glare.

"Ade, please hold still," she said quietly.

"Do as your mother says," his father, Brogan, called from over the top of a newspaper.

Ade rolled his eyes. "Sorry that I don't really want to get all dressed up for a public execution."

"After all the Capitol does for us, the least you can do is treat the games with some respect!" Brogan snapped, his face reddening. "You're representing our family there today. You'll look smart. Do you understand me?"

"What a great family I have to represent," Ade said through gritted teeth.

"If I heard that correctly then you deserve to be reaped!" Brogan spat.

"Brogan!" Crescentia exclaimed, although her voice was still soft when she raised it.

"That boy should be more grateful for what he's got," Brogan returned to his newspaper. "One of the most important families in the district! That's what he's got."

Ade gave a harsh laugh. "Being the most important family in District Nine is like being the richest beggar."

"Ade, don't talk to your father that way," Crescentia said, concern in her eyes.

Ade shrugged. He was used to starting the day with an argument, so used to it that he'd find it strange if one didn't happen. He had tried to get along with his parents, to not wind up Brogan quite so much, but that never stopped Brogan. The annoyance had just built up in Ade until it spilled out as anger. He could remember yelling at his father until his voice was hoarse, charging out and slamming the door as Crescentia buried her face in his hands. At least he was slightly better at controlling himself now.

Brogan had never cared for Ade. He'd always been busy at work, far more concerned about money than his son and family. In the strange parallel universe of Brogan's mind, the Wysors were rich and he was a classy businessman. In the reality that Ade found himself stuck in, Brogan was a poor man in a thread-bare suit.

Ade ran a hand through his already messy hair and his mother sighed. She tried to smooth it back down again but couldn't tame it.

"Leave him alone, Cres," Ade's grandmother said from the sofa. "You've made him as smart as he's going to let you."

"Mother, I..." Crescentia started.

"You look like a proper gentleman, Ade," his grandmother added with a smile.

Ade couldn't help but smile back. His grandparents were the only things that tied him to his family. If they weren't there, he'd have walked out ages ago. As it was, Ardara and Kamau Gant were better parents to him than his real parents. They'd help him with his homework, chat to him about his life, and give him treats on the rare occasions that they could afford it. His grandfather was the one who'd encouraged Ade to start training for the games, just in case he was reaped. Brogan had never cared for the hours that Ade had spent out in the forest, practicing with blow darts and his bow. To Brogan, they were hours that could have spent working. To Ade, they were a few hours away from the pressure of school and the tyranny of his father.

Leaving Crescentia's side, Ade walked over to the shabby sofa where his grandparents spent most of their lives. He leant against the back of it and felt the familiar ratty velvet under his fingers. Opposite the sofa, the television was on. Brogan was very proud of the television. While some families were forced to watch the games on a black and white box that constantly needed to be hit to get the picture right, he'd somehow managed to afford quite a big set with a full colour picture. It actually was something to be proud of, but it was just in a room that acted as kitchen, dining room and lounge with furniture that was close to falling apart and bare floorboards.

"See you later," Ardara said. "I'll make sure to get something nice cooked up for you."

"Later? You're not coming?" Ade's face fell.

"Goodness no!" Ardara said. "My back won't quite hold out through the reapings this year."

"Don't worry, we'll be watching on the telly." Kamau nodded towards the television.

"But what if I'm reaped?"

"Then we'll be glad to see the back of you," Brogan interjected.

Ade tightened his grip on the back of the sofa, but didn't say anything. Reaping day was stressful enough without him sparking yet another dispute.

"I'm sure you'd be back in no time," Kamau said, the laugh lines around his eyes more prominent than ever as he smiled. "You could win, y'know. You're far from helpless, Ade."

"It's not going to come to that," Ardara said. "You'll be back for tea."

The Capitol anthem sounded and the family looked towards the television as one. A blonde Capitol woman appeared on screen, a plastic grin on her lips and glitter around her eyes. The Hunger Games logo was displayed behind her. Sighing, Ardara turned up the volume.

"Good morning, Panem, and welcome to the official coverage of the Ninety-First Hunger Games!" she said. "I'm sure you're all as excited as we are about reaping day, so stay tuned as we go live to District One in just twenty minutes! We'll be with you throughout the day, with special interviews from Head Gamemaker Elsa Quen and..." Ardara turned the sound down again and Crescentia's gaze fluttered to the clock on the wall.

"We need to go," she said quietly.

Brogan slammed his newspaper down onto the table. "Come on, boy. You've delayed us enough already."

"Good luck, Ade!" Ardara beamed at her grandson.

"Fingers crossed." Kamau held up his right hand, showing his crossed fingers.

Ade smiled and did the same before racing out the door to catch up with Brogan's grumblings.

After escaping from an awkward hug from Crescentia, Ade headed towards the seventeens, his hands deep in his pockets. He was slightly nervous, he always was, but looking at the number of people gathered in the square calmed his nerves. District Nine wasn't huge, but there were a lot of people there that weren't him. Most of them were worse off than him and would have taken plenty of tesserae to keep them alive. Thanks to his father's arrogance, Ade had never been allowed to take any. Only a few scraps of paper would have his name on them.

"Ade!"

Ade looked over his shoulder to see Nabila pushing her way through the crowd towards him. Her eyes lit up as she saw him and she ran the last few steps. He smiled weakly at her. Nabila had been his friend for as long as he could remember, and was one of the few people that he cared for. She was up there with his grandparents on his list of his favourite people.

"Feeling lucky?" she asked.

"I think so," Ade said.

"One more year and we'll be out of this," she said, glancing at the nearest peacekeeper to see if he'd spotted her move out of order.

"I think our lives will all be improved without this spark of happiness," Ade said and Nabila laughed.

"You seen Basil and Beecher anywhere?" she asked, standing on tiptoes and peering over the crowd.

"Nope, I've only just got here."

"Oh well." Nabila shrugged. "Anyway, want to come back to mine afterwards? We can watch the rest of the reapings."

"Sounds like fun," Ade said dryly.

"It will be! We can make bets on who'll win and all that."

"Fine – I'll go," Ade said. Although he hated the idea of actually treating the games as entertainment, he was willing to put aside his morals to be with his friends.

Nabila grinned, then the crowd fell silent as the mayor began his speech. Ade had heard it a million times before, he didn't need to hear it again. His stomach fluttered as he stared at the bowls of names. He knew his was in there somewhere. Kamau was right, Ade had trained for the games – he wouldn't be completely useless if his name was picked. Basil or Beecher on the other hand would probably go in the bloodbath. Would he volunteer for them if their names were drawn? He didn't know. He'd have a much better chance at winning, but he didn't know if he could throw his life on the line like that, just for a friend.

"Let's start with the ladies!" the escort screeched as she took the mayor's place on stage.

Ade held his breath as the woman groped inside the bowl for the girl's name. If Nabila's name was on that slip of paper then he wouldn't be able to do anything to stop her from going in. He didn't know if he could cope with her going. Friends like that didn't appear very often.

"Christina Ann Robins!" the escort called out.

Murmurs ran through the crowd as a small girl walked onto the stage from the thirteens. She looked so short compared to the escort and her high heels, but there was no sign of fear on Christina's face. Her expression was serious, and ever-so-slightly annoyed. Her choppy blonde hair was tied back into a braid with a brown and red feather woven into it near the top.

"Christina!" the escort exclaimed as she crouched down to the girl's level, pouting with what she probably thought looked like sympathy. "Or is it Chrissy? Christy? What do you want to be called, dear?"

"Robin," the girl said curtly.

The escort laughed, sounding like a dolphin on helium. "What a strange way of shortening your name!"

"It's my name." Robin glared at the escort.

"Fine," the woman said as she stood up. "Ladies and gentlemen, your female tribute – Robin... um... Robins! Now for the boys!"

Ade watched anxiously as she strode across the stage, each step accompanied by the clickity-clack of her heels. Beside him, Nabila had relaxed, but he was even tenser than before. Nabila glanced at him.

"You all right?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

Ade nodded and watched as the woman reached into the second glass bowl. She was deliberately taking a long time, he was sure of it. Her hand finally emerged, the scrap of paper held between two manicured fingers. She cleared her throat.

"Ade Wysor!"

Ade stared in horror at the escort. She couldn't have said that. All that worrying about the games had been purely hypothetical! He wasn't actually going to be reaped!

Nabila voiced his feelings perfectly. "Oh _shit_..."


	2. Rich and Poor

**Damien Snowe – District Six**

"Your go," Grace said, drawing a card.

Damien stared at his hand. He wasn't in the mood for playing card games, his mind was on other things. It was reaping day, after all, and everyone was worried about it, no matter how much they smiled. Damien knew that he'd be able to cope with the games – his father had made sure that he'd trained for them since a young age. Children of victors had an annoying habit of being reaped.

"Damien?" Grace said.

"I'm thinking."

Grace was only thirteen. It had been her first reaping the year before, and she'd wanted to go with Damien rather than her family. She was like the little sister he'd never had. She'd had to be dragged away from him to go and stand with the other twelve year-olds, and Damien had spent the whole time worried about her. Her father was an employee at Riden Snowe's factory, and wasn't exactly rich. Grace had been made to take out tesserae as soon as she was able to. Luckily, it hadn't been Grace's name that was called, but Damien was still scared for her. So the day after the reaping he'd taken her out into the forest with him, where he taught her what his father had spent years teaching him. Grace had shown natural talent, and the two of them would often sneak out into the woods to hunt and spar. Despite all that, Damien was still worried for the girl. She looked younger than ever in her reaping wear, with her slightly too big blue dress and a frayed bow in her golden hair.

"Damien, are you ready?" Riden Snowe – Damien's father – appeared in the dining-room doorway. His gaze froze as he looked at Grace. "Why's she here?"

"She's coming to the reaping with us," Damien said. "Thanks to long working hours, her own family's rather busy."

"She doesn't need a babysitter anymore," Riden said, adjusting his suit.

"I was just leaving," Grace said, dropping her hand of cards onto the table. "See you later, Damien."

She edged past Riden and left the house. Damien sighed and gathered up the cards.

"Honestly, Damien," Riden said, walking over to the table. "I don't know why you're so attached to that girl."

"Me neither." Damien looked towards the door as he tied an elastic band round the deck.

"So, are you ready?" Riden glanced at his watch/

"Yes, Dad, I'm fine."

"Remember everything I taught you. Try to find a sword and..."

"Dad. I'm not reaped yet."

Riden smiled weakly. "Yeah. Of course."

Riden Snowe won the games when he was younger than Damien. It hadn't been an easy victory, and Riden had been left with a limp that he tried his best to hide. Riden knew the horrors of the Hunger Games better than anyone else in the district, and dedicated his free time to training Damien. The rest of his life was spent running his business. After the brutality of the games, Riden found himself well-suited to the cut-throat world of business. Some people would feel bad about treating life-saving medicine as a profit machine, but not Riden. Especially after the death of his wife, only a scrap of humanity remained in Riden, which he reserved purely for his son. Damien just never had the humanity in his soul to begin with.

"Here." Riden held out a necklace to Damien, who reluctantly took it.

He turned it over in his hand. A syringe was engraved on the silver pendant – the logo of Riden's company.

"And why do I need this?" Damien asked.

"To be your token," Riden said.

"Dad, I've told you, I haven't been reaped."

"Yet," Riden said, checking his watch. "Come on, we can't be late."

With a sigh, Riden placed the cards back on the table. He pulled on his coat as he walked out of the door. The chill District Six air hit him in the face and he buttoned up the coat, shivering against the cold. Riden locked the door behind them as Damien headed down the garden path and out onto the road.

Most of the houses in the District Six Victors' Village were empty, and the inhabitants of the few that were occupied spent most of their time locked away from the world. Damien didn't mind, he liked the quiet. The cramped 'community' of District Six never appealed to him. To him, the less people in his life the better.

Silence settled over Damien and his father as they got into the car. There were other families with cars in District Six, but none of them compared to Riden's. It was his pride and joy – sleek and polished black with leather seats. It could pick up Capitol radio stations, but Damien preferred it if the radio was left off. He'd never seen the appeal of music.

It was a long drive through the countryside to the heart of District Six. While other districts seemed to just be one large city, District Six was more spread out. It needed to be in order to support its population. Damien stared out of the window at the fields that rolled by as he drummed his fingers against the seat. In the distance he could see the dark plumes of smoke billowing from one of his father's factories. Not everyone in the district worked in the medical industry. Only a select few were intelligent enough to be actively involved in the research, and there weren't enough factories to provide everyone with jobs. So there were farmers and merchants and the whole district was basically self-sustained. The Capitol didn't exactly approve of that, but there was nothing they could do. There was an awkward peace between the Capitol and the districts. They wouldn't try anything to break it. Not then at least. Only fifteen years earlier, when the rumours of rebellion were sprinting through the districts, they might have tried something. But that died down quickly, and the districts carried on as usual.

The streets near to the city centre were already full, so they had to park quite far away and walk the rest of the distance. It was so crowded that the twelve and thirteen year olds had been herded off down side streets where they could watch the reaping on the big screens.

"See you, Damien." Riden nodded slightly towards his son.

"Yeah," Damien replied.

Riden looked as if he was about to speak, but thought better of it and headed towards the stage. Damien joined the other seventeens and waited for the names to be drawn. He took a deep breath and stared at the floor as the escort drew the girl's name.

"Serene Asire!" the man called out.

Damien breathed a sigh of relief – Grace was free from the games for another year. He had another year to train her, to make sure that she'd be the one to come back alive if her name was drawn. He looked up at the stage as a trembling sixteen-year-old walked onto it. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and gave the escort a weak smile. Serene went to the same school as Damien, and was in his year. They'd never spoken much, but Damien still felt a tiny bit sad as he watched her prepare for her death. She was a pretty girl – tall and slim with long brown hair – and had always seemed like a nice person. She was popular, he could remember seeing her surrounded by giggling friends. That probably explained the wailing sobs that were coming from a group of girls in the sixteens. Serene was as good as dead, and they knew it. Damien just wished that they'd shut up. It was a difficult enough day already without that hideous sound assaulting his ears.

Serene waited awkwardly alone as the escort crossed the stage to draw the second name. Damien's nails bit into his palm as he waited for the name to be announced. He looked towards his father, but all of Riden's attention was on the escort. Damien's hand went to the silver necklace and he traced the outline of the syringe, hoping it was calm his nerves.

"And our male tribute is... Damien Snowe!" The escort grinned towards the crowd.

"No..." Riden said quietly, eyes wide with shock.

Damien sighed. It had finally happened. Just when he thought that he might have been safe, it had been his year. Riden was right after all – his son was going into the games. But Damien wasn't going to let his father down. He was going to be the victor of the Ninety-first Hunger Games.


	3. Volunteers and Careers

**Kaleb Endrich – District Two**

In District Two, the reapings were a day of celebrations. It was a day to celebrate the strength of the district, a day for the Careers to prove themselves. There would be music and parties later, but for now the crowds had been forced into silence by the mayor as she began her speech. Hushed whispers ran through the air, filling the square with excitement waiting to explode. Although the flags were bright and the lights that hung above the streets were beautiful, Kale Endrich couldn't settle into the celebratory atmosphere. It had always seemed weird to him that a day that was treated by the other districts with such disgust was turned into a festival by District Two.

There had always been a tradition of violence in District Two. The Capitol actively encouraged it. At least half of a class at school would be put through Career training. The few that made it into the games would either return victorious or in a coffin. Those that didn't make the cut went on to become soldiers and peacekeepers. Career training seemed to try and drain a child of emotion and morality. The tributes that came out of it were expected to kill without remorse or sympathy. It didn't always work, but Kale had seen some scary kids coming out of the training centre. Those kids would go on to become peacekeepers, in charge of law in the lower districts. Kale couldn't help but think that those districts must end up with a pretty twisted law-enforcement.

Kale's father was a peacekeeper but he'd got his job because he wanted peace in the district, not because he was some reject Career who was looking to use up some of that pent-up anger. Kale had always looked up to his father. In a world where there was so much evil, it was good to see someone working for justice. There needed to be more peacekeepers like his father, which was why Kale was determined to be one. Kale's father had been adamant that his children were never going to go through Career training, but Kale desperately wanted to learn how to be a peacekeeper. Eventually, he caved to his son's pleadings and reluctantly began to teach Kale how to defend himself. After a few years of training, Kale was sure that he could match even the best of the Careers at swordplay. But he'd never sink to their level.

"Happy Hunger Games!" The escort's welcome signalled the end of the mayor's speech and Kale was pulled back into focus.

The crowd cheered and the escort grinned. He wasn't the same one as last year, and was clearly very happy about getting a Career district.

Kale felt another hand grip his. He looked towards Karlee, who was huddled close to him in the crowd of people. Karlee was Kale's twin and she was probably his best friend as well. The two of them barely spent a minute apart when they were little, and Kale was only just used to Karlee choosing to hang out with her friends rather than him. He had to protect her, and was worried that she might fall in with the wrong people. One of her friends was in Career training, but Karlee had reassured him that she was completely normal. Kale still wasn't sure. Although Karlee was spending more time with her friends, the twins were still very close. Karlee meant the world to Kale. She represented the kind of District Two that he wanted to protect as a peacekeeper.

He tried to give her hand a reassuring squeeze, but he didn't feel too confident himself. He hated being around so many people. His movement felt so limited, like they were trying to suffocate him. But he had Karlee to hold onto, to give him something solid and unchanging in the sea of people. He'd never let her go.

"Okay, I'm sure you're all _dying_ to find out who our tributes are going to be!" the escort called, and even the whispers in the crowd disappeared. It was time for District Two to find its new heroes. "Now, I don't want to be one to break tradition, so looks like it's going to be ladies first!"

He reached into the mass of slips of paper and one found itself between his fingers. He looked at it, smiled, then looked up at the crowd again.

"Karlee Endrich!" he shouted.

No. Kale's grip on his sister's hand tightened. He wasn't going to let her go up onto that stage. That wasn't her name that was just called out. It couldn't be. Kale's breathing was shallow and his heartbeat fast as he clung onto her.

"Kale, that's a bit too tight," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "Can you let go? Please?"

"I can't."

"Kale, you have to."

She smiled weakly at him and prised his fingers out of her own. With a whispered 'excuse me', she made her way through the crowd onto the stage, leaving Kale abandoned to drown in the sea. He just stared at her beside the Capitol man, but he didn't truly see her anymore. All he saw was the fact that his sister, his beloved sister, could be going into the games.

There would be Careers. Careers would volunteer. But what if they didn't? Karlee would be sent to die.

His mind dragged him back three years, to the morning of his first reaping. He'd begun his training by then. His father had taken him aside and told him sincerely: _"Kaleb, if Karlee ever goes into the games, then she'll need you to protect her. Two tributes have won before. They might just let twins do it again. Promise me that you'll be there."_ Kale had nodded, and replied with: _"I promise."_

Kale had never been one to break a promise.

"Now for the gentlemen!" the escort called, seemingly not noticing the shaking girl on the stage beside him. He reached into the bowl and fished out a name. Kale didn't care whose name was on it. He knew who was really going into the games. "Tore Carrith!"

A scared looking boy from the thirteens took his place on the stage. He wouldn't be there for long. Kale had made up his mind. He would be there to protect Karlee if she went into the games. If someone volunteered for her, then he'd have a shot at winning anyway. He didn't want to go into the games, but he wouldn't let there be any chance of Karlee going alone.

"Right," the escort said, letting the slip of paper flutter to the ground. "Now then – any volunteers?"

Kale's hand hit the air. "I volunteer as tribute!" he called out in unison with at least four other people.

He glanced behind him to see a burly boy glaring at him. Swallowing, he turned and ran through the crowd. He shoved people aside, ignoring their yells and complaints. He sped forward, frequently stumbling. All he knew was that he had to be the first to reach the escort.

He was. He arrived on stage out of breath and panting, with the escort's annoying laugh in his ears.

"And what's your name, young man?" The escort strolled over to him.

Kale glanced up to see Karlee staring at him, eyes wide in horror and her hands covering her mouth. He didn't care if she didn't want him there – he was going into the games.

"Kaleb Endrich," Kale said, standing up straight.

The escort smiled. "Another Endrich, eh? Well then, looks like you're our male tribute for this year, Kaleb!"

Karlee turned away from her brother, tears forming in her eyes. Kale tried to look strong – he_ was_ representing a Career district – but he just wanted to hug her and cry. The reality of the decision that he'd made was beginning to seep in, and it wasn't a pleasant reality.

"Any girls?" the escort shouted out over the crowd.

Kale didn't really know if he wanted one of them to volunteer or not. If there was a volunteer then he'd thrown his life away for nothing, but Karlee would be safe. But he didn't know how he'd cope without Karlee by his side.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Kale's heart sank as he saw the eighteens part and let his new companion through. She wasn't as tall as most Careers, but her icy blue eyes shone with determination. Her hair was bleached blonde, with her original brown hair showing at the roots. Her dress hung off of one shoulder, baring her muscular arms. A thin smirk was on her lips as she walked onto the stage.

"Get off of my stage," she spat at Karlee.

With one last pained look back at Kale, Karlee ran down off of the stage and was swallowed by the crowd again. Kale knew that it could well be the last time he ever saw her. Now he was in the games for no reason.

"And what's your name?" the escort asked, staying closer to Kale than to the girl.

"Terrana Stoner," the girl said with a snort, as if she expected the escort to know it already. "Daughter of Malice and Vin Stoner. Heard of them? Thought you might. They're both victors." She wasn't talking to the escort anymore, her words were directly fired at Kale.

"Um... well... ladies and gentlemen – Terrana Stoner!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as the escort gestured for the two tributes to shake hands. Kale timidly held out his hand and Terrana took it. Her grip was strong and her palms calloused, the opposite of Karlee. Terrana looked him up and down, probably judging him as a potential ally or victim.

"You in?" she asked, having to raise her voice over the sound of the crowd.

"In what?"

"The Careers," she sneered.

Kale didn't know what to say. He'd been planning to win the games by himself, but it would probably be better to have someone like Terrana as an ally than as an enemy. But he didn't want to be seen as a Career. He didn't want to become what his father had tried so hard to save him from.

He was glad when the escort broke them apart and finished the reaping ceremony. He had a little longer to think up his answer.

Career or not, he was in the games.

* * *

**Valkyrie Pyre – District Four**

Valkyrie had a lot of people to worry about on reaping day. Her own safety was the least of her concerns as she stood amongst the seventeens, waiting for the names to be called. She knew that somewhere in the crowd were her siblings. Her brother, Odin, might have been able to survive if his name was called, but she knew that neither Frey nor Freya would stand a chance if they were forced into the Capitol's games. Valkyrie stood on tiptoe and peered over at the fifteens, trying to spot them, but she had no luck. She could barely see the stage over the heads of the other seventeens, even when she was stretched to her full height.

She had to put up with staring at the back of the boy in front of her while the mayor made his speech. She was pretty sure that it was exactly the same speech as last year, and she was completely sure that nobody in the crowd was interested in hearing it. They just wanted to know who their tributes were.

District Four was a Career district, but not to the same extent as One or Two. From what Valkyrie could tell, the volunteers were chosen long in advance of the reapings, selected by their trainers. It was all very civilised. One tribute would volunteer without any fuss. There was no frantic race for the stage like in the other Career districts. Despite all that, the reapings still made Valkyrie nervous.

Valkyrie touched her thumb to each of her finger tips in turn, again and again. It was a bad habit that she had – it always sprung up subconsciously. She'd barely notice that she was doing it until someone pointed it out. It made her feel slightly calmer though, so she didn't see any reason why she wasn't allowed to do it on reaping day.

"Ladies first!" the escort called out. Valkyrie hadn't even noticed that the mayor had stopped speaking.

Valkyrie bit her lip as the escort found the girl's name. She closed her eyes and waited for the name to be announced.

"Valkyrie Pyre!"

Okay, she could deal with that. All she had to do was stand on the stage and wait for the Career to volunteer. Simple. But her feet shook as she made her way to the stage. She'd never actually expected her name to be called. She wasn't _really_ going into the games, but that didn't stop her name from being on that slip of paper. In any other district, that would be a death sentence.

She stood beside the escort, who gave her a reassuring smile. The woman knew as well as she did that there would be a volunteer. Valkyrie tried to smile back, but she couldn't bring herself to.

"Time for the boys!" the escort exclaimed.

Valkyrie's thumb continued to dance across her fingers as the escort reached into the second bowl

"Heran Ebb!"

A young boy walked onto the stage, trembling slightly but appearing quite confident. If he was feeling at all nervous then he was doing a good job of hiding his emotions. The escort looked between her two 'tributes' then back out at the audience.

"Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer as tribute!" a voice came from the eighteens.

Heran scurried off of the stage and Valkyrie gasped when she saw the boy that replaced him. He was huge – over six foot tall and covered with bulging muscles. He made the escort look small, despite her platform boots. Valkyrie knew that she must have looked tiny compared to him. The escort's eyes widened as she looked up at him.

"And what's your name?" she asked.

"Rufus Malus," he said.

"Right." The escort turned back to the audience. "Any girls?"

Valkyrie stared out into the audience, waiting for the volunteer to emerge. She looked towards the eighteens. No hands were in the air, no voices calling out. Murmurs were beginning to spread through the crowd. Valkyrie froze. Where was the volunteer? There had to be a volunteer! She couldn't go into the games! There was so much that she wanted to do with her life. She had to stay in District Four to protect her siblings. She couldn't leave. She couldn't _die_. Not now.

Tears began to sting at her eyes, but she tried her best to force them back. She glanced at Rufus with his red hair and cold eyes. She couldn't be made to fight against someone like him. She was going to die. Why wasn't anyone volunteering? Where are the Careers? She knew that there were plenty of them in the district, so why wasn't there one on the stage?

"Anyone?" the escort called, concerned.

There was no response.

"Then I give you your tributes! Valkyrie Pyre and Rufus Malus!"

Valkyrie awkwardly shook hands with Rufus. He felt as if he could crush her wrist like it was nothing. She looked up into his eyes and he smirked slightly. He could sense her fear, she knew it. She tore her hand away from him.

* * *

Valkyrie stared at the floor of the Justice Building, still not letting herself cry. Rufus sat opposite her, watching her like a snake. Was he planning how he was going to kill her? She glanced up at him again. He'd shown no sign of any emotion when his parents had come in to bid him farewell.

Valkyrie's mother hadn't come in to say goodbye. The woman probably had no idea what was going on – she only had a few scraps of her mind left. It had been Valkyrie's responsibility to look after her, to make sure that her family was safe. She'd passed that responsibility to Odin now, though she didn't know how well he'd handle it. Sometimes she felt like his mother as well, although he was older than her.

She hadn't been able to hold her tears in for any longer when Odin and the twins had come in to say goodbye. She'd hugged them all so tightly, like she'd never be able to ever again. Looking at her chances, she probably wouldn't. She'd told them how much she loved them and given Odin instructions on how to look after their mother. Her father had turned up as well, given her a brusque goodbye and an awkward hug. She didn't know her father that well, but it still meant a lot to her that he'd been there. Then the four of them had left, and she was alone again.

"Let me in," a muffled voice came from behind the door.

"I'm afraid that the time allotted for goodbyes is..." a peacekeeper started.

"I don't care, let me in."

Clearly the peacekeeper didn't need much persuasion. The door opened and a tall girl hurried in, still in the short blue dress she must have worn for the reaping. Sympathy in her eyes, she ran over to Valkyrie. Valkyrie looked up at her nervously. She'd never seen this girl before in her life.

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," the girl blurted, stumbling over the words as they sprung from her lips.

"Who are you?" Valkyrie asked quietly.

"I was chosen to volunteer," the girl said. "My name's Marina."

Valkyrie looked her up and down. Of course she was a Career. Her tanned body was toned and muscular. She held herself like an athlete and there were scars on her arms. Her hair was dark brown, and tied back practically. Valkyrie's own hair had been dyed almost white by the sun's rays. She spent every free moment at the docks, working hard to provide for her family.

"I'm so sorry I didn't," Marina said, tears forming in her eyes. "The girl who was meant to volunteer broke her leg doing some last minute training yesterday. I was only told that I was second choice this morning. I panicked. I should have done it, but I just wasn't ready. I... I'm sorry." Her gaze fell to the floor.

Valkyrie looked up at her. She couldn't hate Marina, although they both knew that it should be her waiting for the train to arrive. But Valkyrie couldn't imagine anyone wanting to volunteer for such a fate. She didn't know how Careers could do it. Marina seemed like a decent girl, she didn't look like the type to volunteer to go on a killing spree. Valkyrie couldn't wish the games onto anyone, even the person who could have saved her life.

"It's all right," she said and Marina looked up with a sad smile. "I understand."

"I... thank you," Marina replied.

"Time's up," the peacekeeper called, leaning round the doorway.

"Good luck," Marina said. "Get some allies, try to find a water source, stay away from the Cornucopia unless you're super quick."

"Thanks," Valkyrie said with a smile.

Marina smiled back, gave Valkyrie a crisp nod, then darted out of the door. Valkyrie sighed and buried her head in her hands again. Rufus laughed harshly, but she ignored him. She didn't want to risk making an enemy of him before they were even in the games.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought of it - your reviews mean so much to me. Even if I didn't reply to yours, I'm still immensely grateful for all of the reviews I've had so far. Thanks so much!**

**If you're the creator of these characters, please let me know if I wrote them well!**


	4. Departures and Promises

**Sable Zinith – District Eight**

Sable pulled her crossed arms tight to her chest as she sat in the Justice Building. She'd been there several times, but the place had never felt evil before. But now it was her cage, locking her away from freedom. It would be the last part of her district that she'd ever see.

Sable wondered if the reapings had been rigged. She'd suspected it before when the children of victors were reaped – they'd never taken any tesserae, their chances were one in a million. Despite that, their names often showed up on those slips of paper. Maybe the Capitol had heard of her, or maybe the mayor had just got sick of her. No one liked to listen to the voice of reason, after all.

Sometimes, Sable felt like she was the only one that could see the world clearly. She saw poverty and injustice everywhere she went. She saw it in the working conditions at the factories, she saw it in the old workers who were forced to work until they died because of the measly pensions they were given. Sable saw the Capitol's evil and she wasn't one to let it go unnoticed. She was one of the lucky ones in the district – her father had a well-paid job working for the mayor. She had money to spare, and she didn't hoard it. She gave it to the people that needed it, the poor workers at the textile factories. At the weekends, she'd sneak into the district woods and poach herbs and berries. Technically, it was illegal, but Sable didn't care. They'd just be left to rot in the forest, and she could do good with them. The herbs could make medicines – they could save lives. The berries could make a meal – not a large one, of course, but enough to ward off hunger for a while. The mayor was used to seeing Sable in his office, complaining about the way the district was run. But nothing ever changed. The poor stayed poor and the rich stayed rich, like they'd always done.

And now Sable had been silenced. Her name had been drawn, despite the fact that she'd never taken tesserae. It had been her last year of eligibility – she was almost free from the games. She hadn't been chosen by luck, she'd been _selected_. She was sure of it.

The door opened and her father rushed in. She looked up at him, then her gaze fell to the floor when she saw the tears in his eyes. She didn't want to see her father like that. He said nothing, just sat beside her and held her hand tightly. Sable couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She loved her dad, and the thought of never seeing him again hurt her like no wound ever could. He hugged her close and she sobbed into his shoulder.

"Good luck, Sable," he whispered.

Sable couldn't say anything in reply. She couldn't promise to return, because she was pretty sure that she wouldn't. But she couldn't tell him that either.

The door opened again. The two of them looked up to see a boy standing in the doorway. Sable wiped the tears from her eyes. It was Tay – her best friend since she was seven and now her boyfriend. Her father smiled at her.

"I'll leave you two alone," he said. "Just... be careful, Sable."

"I love you, Dad," she said.

He smiled weakly and left the room. Tay limped over to Sable and she stood up. He was able to walk without his crutches now, but his leg still hurt him. She ran into his arms and threw her arms around him, throwing him off balance. He hugged her back. This would be the last time they held each other. Sable couldn't bear the thought. She'd always assumed she'd be with Tay until the day that she died. That day, she realised, would probably be in less than a month.

"Sable..." Tay whispered.

"Don't," Sable said.

"I... I love you more than anything," Tay said.

The words that she loved to hear stabbed her like knives. She loved him as much as he loved her. She wanted to stay with him forever. But being with him then only reminded her that the Capitol was taking him away from her. They were tearing the couple apart, and they didn't even acknowledge it. They'd cry and pretend to sympathise with her when she spoke about Tay in the interviews, but they wouldn't truly understand. They were the ones keeping them apart, they were the ones that had sentenced her to death. They were the ones who would be calling for her blood the second the games began.

She tried to forget that, she tried to just close her eyes and get lost in the little world where only she and Tay were real. But she couldn't. She was still in the Justice Building, waiting for the train to arrive that would take her to the Capitol and to her death.

"Sable." Tay let her go, but kept her hands in his as he looked down into her eyes, a fragile smile on his lips. "I've been meaning to say something to you for a long time."

He winced as he lowered himself onto one knee. Sable stared at him with love and horror. He couldn't really be doing what she thought he was doing, could he? He wasn't that stupid. He wouldn't offer her everything that she'd ever wanted, knowing she'd never be able to have it.

Clearly, he would.

He took a small black box from his pocket, flipped it open and held it out to her. She gasped and covered her mouth. Tears that she didn't realise she was crying were moist beneath her fingers. In that box was a ring. It was just a simple silver band, but that didn't matter. What mattered was what it represented. How much she loved him, how much he loved her, how cruel the Capitol was to pull her away from him.

"Sable Zinith, will you marry me?"

She couldn't help but smile, although she didn't want to. She didn't want to say yes, but there was no way that she was going to say no.

"Yes," she said, choked by the tears.

Then the ring was on her finger and he was kissing her. She was filled with ecstatic happiness and an unbearable sorrow. She was engaged to the man she loved more than anything in the world, but she was never going to be able to say her wedding vows. This was the last kiss that they'd share, the one that meant the most.

"Promise me you'll come back," Tay said, breaking the kiss.

"I can't..."

"Promise me you'll try," he insisted.

"I will," Sable whispered.

"You can do it, Sable," Tay said. "I know you. You're stronger than you think."

"I'm no killer, Tay," she said.

"You don't have to be, you're a survivor."

"While we're making promises," she said quietly, avoiding his eyes. "Promise me you'll move on."

"How can I?" Tay brushed a tear off of her cheek.

"Don't spend your life in love with the dead."

"I won't. I'll spend it with you."

"Tay, don't," Sable said. "I love you with all of my heart. I don't want to be the one that holds you back for the rest of your life."

"Sable, I..."

"Promise me," she said firmly.

Tay looked at her with pained eyes. It hurt her to see him in pain, to know that it's because of her. He sighed.

"I promise."

She kissed him again, lightly.

"Then I'll try to come home."

She fell into his embrace again, not wanting to let go. She wanted to run out of the Justice Building, drag him to the church and make him her husband. She wanted them to live the life that they wanted. But she couldn't.

The peacekeeper ordered Tay out of the building and she watched as the door closed. He was gone, that was it. The door wouldn't open again. She wouldn't hear his laugh, see his smile, kiss his lips ever again. Twisting the ring round her finger, she slumped back onto the sofa. The Capitol was evil, utterly and completely evil.

She heard a laugh from across the room and looked up into the eyes of her district partner. She hadn't really looked at him until then. He was her age, with messy dark hair and hands criss-crossed with scars. His dark eyes cut into her. Creed Clifton – that was his name. She could vaguely remember seeing him around school, but she was pretty sure that he'd left at sixteen. He looked like the kind of tribute that would actually stand a chance in the games – quite tall and strong, but not to the same extent as the Careers.

"Good luck with that engagement thing," he said.

Sable blushed bright red. She'd forgotten that she was being watched the whole time she was with Tay. She felt so stupid.

"I'm serious," Creed said. "It's nice to see that you've found your soulmate. Won't it hurt him more now that you're his fiancée though?"

Tay would be watching as she died. She hadn't really thought about that. Hopefully her death wouldn't be too violent. She stared down at the ring on her finger. "It would have hurt him more if I'd said no."

**

* * *

**

**Raylene Mycar – District Seven**

Ray slumped back against the sofa and stared up at the textured ceiling of the Justice Building. Her eyes tried to follow the lines in the plaster but ended up getting lost in the maze. She sighed and rocked forward, running her fingers through her hair.

Her gaze fell on the boy opposite her. He was a few years younger than her, but only slightly shorter. His black hair fell into his eyes, making it difficult for her to read his emotion. Unlike so many other kids his age would do, he wasn't crying. He merely stared at a small wooden acorn that he kept turning over and over in his hands. It was probably his token. She didn't have one. There wasn't anything in the district that she wanted to remember that desperately.

She considered saying something to the boy, but couldn't really be bothered to. Although she knew allies could be beneficial in the games, she didn't want one. She'd never needed friends in real life; she didn't need them in the games. They'd just hold her back and disagree with her. She had her tactics for the games worked out. She was going to be alone, and stay alone. She didn't need the extra weight of an ally.

"Ray Ray!" a high-pitched voice called out.

Ray looked up to see Belle Grangerford – her idiot cousin – rushing through the doorway towards her, her large blue eyes filled with fake tears.

"I couldn't believe it when your name was called!"

Ray tensed as Belle hugged her, and caught a glimpse of a smile on Belle's lips.

"Get off of me," Ray said flatly.

Belle pulled away and looked down at Ray. She sighed softly and raised her hand to her painted lips. Her face quivered as if she was trying not to cry. Ray rolled her eyes. Belle had never cared for her before, in fact, quite the opposite was true. Despite – unfortunately – being related to each other, even living under the same roof, Ray and Belle were mortal enemies. Beautiful Belle with her gorgeous hair and innocent eyes had dedicated her life to making Ray's life hell, and Ray refused to believe that the reaping had triggered a sudden change of heart in her. Belle was only acting that way because she thought that she might be on television.

"I would have volunteered for you!" Belle said. "I almost did! Then I remembered the whole certain death thing." She gave the ghost of a smirk, almost breaking through her facade. Ray was right, Belle was enjoying every last minute of this. She was probably looking forward to watching the horrors Ray would face in the games. Though Ray couldn't say that she'd feel any different if it was Belle being reaped. It would have served her right.

The rest of Ray's family walked in behind Belle, their faces much more sullen than Belle's melodramatic sorrow. Ray's family was much larger than she'd have liked it to be. There were her parents and her brother, then the various cousins that had ended up living with them. The life expectancy in District Seven wasn't particularly high, and the majority of Ray's aunts and uncles had ended up on the list of mortalities, leaving their children to live with relatives. There were the Grangerfords – Belle and Kobe – who had lived with the Mycars for so long that they might as well have been Ray's siblings. Though Belle was the devil in a blonde wig, her brother was no way near as bad. Ray could even have called him a friend. While Belle was the only person that could wind Ray up, Kobe was the only one that could make her open up. He looked away from her as she looked up at him, the glint of tears in his eyes. She didn't realise just how much she was going to miss him until that moment. It hit her hard, but she shook it off.

By Kobe's side was Ley Mycar, the latest addition to the growing family. Her parents had only died a couple of years previously, and Ray didn't know her as well as the Grangerfords. They definitely weren't friends, but they tolerated each other. At least the hint of sadness that Ley showed was genuine, while Belle continued to feign misery.

The cousins hung back in the doorway as Ray's parents and her brother approached her. Her father placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered words of encouragement, while her mother wiped tears from her eyes. Her little brother hugged her legs and she smiled briefly and ruffled his hair. He was only nine – he shouldn't have had to deal with losing his sister at such a young age. But death was different in District Seven. Nearly everyone knew someone who had died, either in the treacherous lumber yards or due to some illness. If you made it to eighteen without witnessing a death first hand, you were one of the lucky few. Death was part of everybody's life. They were used to it. That didn't mean it didn't hurt those who were left behind. And no way did it mean that Ray was giving up her life without a fight. She wasn't ready to die just yet.

With a final hug and goodbye, Ray's family left the Justice Building. Belle was still keeping up her act as she pushed her way past Kobe to leave. Kobe didn't follow her too eagerly. He lurked in the doorway after the others had left, twiddling his fingers. Ray looked up at him and forced a smile. It was something she didn't do often, and she was sure that it looked creepy, so she stopped. Dragging a hand through his hair, Kobe sat down beside her.

"So, do you think you're ready for this?" he asked.

Ray shook her head. "I never will be."

"You do stand a chance, you know," he said. "Just don't give up."

He sighed and reached into his pocket. Ray watched curiously as he took something out and held it out to her.

"Here. It's for you."

He dropped a ring made of polished wood into her hand. She held it up to the light, twisting it to make out the words engraved onto it. _Not Giving Up_. This time, she didn't have to force the smile.

"Did you make this?" she asked.

"Yeah," Kobe said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It took me quite a long time."

"It's... it's lovely." She slid the ring onto her finger, and he looked relieved when it was a perfect fit.

"I'm glad," he said. "Will it be your token?"

"I can't think of anything else I'd use," she said.

He hugged her, catching her unawares. Awkwardly, she hugged him back. She didn't like other people touching her, but this could have been the last time she saw Kobe. For him, she'd make an exception.

"Good luck," he said.

"I'll see you again," she said, as much to herself as to him.

He smiled back at her as he let you go.

"I can't wait."

With that, he left the room. Ray looked away and focused her attention on the band of wood that circled her finger. She'd been wrong. There was part of her district that she wanted to take into the arena with her. Something she didn't want to forget, someone she didn't want to let go. Whenever she looked at that ring, she'd remember Kobe. Belle would be a distant memory, but he would be fresh in her mind, as a constant reminder of why she had to win. And she would win, no matter what she had to do to get there.

There was no way that she'd give up.

* * *

**Sorry about leaving it so long before posting a new chapter - I've been pretty busy recently.**

**I hope you liked it though! Please let me know what you thought - reviews make great Christmas presents!**

**Merry Christmas for tomorrow :)**


	5. Allies and Enemies

**Katarzyna Klementyna – District One**

Katarzyna couldn't believe her eyes when she saw the woman that waited for her on the train. Nonchalantly checking her nails as she waited for the train to depart was Celestyn Danuta. She looked up as Katarzyna entered the carriage, and for a moment those emerald eyes that had captured the nation's heart nine games ago were fixed on the new tribute. Celestyn's gaze returned to her nails. To Katarzyna, it felt like Celestyn suddenly knew everything about her from just one glance.

Celestyn had won the games when Katarzyna was nine, and had been her idol ever since. Katarzyna had worshipped her, modelling her whole life on the victor's. She'd eaten at the same cafes that she did, shopped at the same stores, and even tried to die her hair blonde – with disastrous consequences. Most importantly, Celestyn had been her inspiration to become a Career – something her father wasn't pleased with. As a victor himself, he'd always hoped that he'd be the one to shape his daughter's life. But fate had had other ideas, and now Katarzyna was face to face with her goddess.

If she hadn't known better, she'd never have thought that Celestyn was a ruthless killer. She looked like a model and held herself like an aristocrat, but there was a certain coldness about her. She lit up the room and froze the air at the same time. Katarzyna could do nothing but stare at her with wonder. The woman was everything that she'd ever wanted to be.

Katarzyna wanted to replicate her mentor's games. She wanted the glamour and the glitz and the screaming fans. She wanted to sweep through the arena without a single scratch, exactly as Celestyn had done. She would make her mentor proud.

"So you're my tribute this year," Celestyn said, still focused on her nails.

"Yeah, I'm Katarzyna..."

"Right, Kat. I..."

"It's Katarzyna," Katarzyna said and Celestyn glared at her. It was as if no one had dared to interrupt her before. Katarzyna shrank away from her; she didn't want her mentor to dislike her. But then a small smile found its way onto Celestyn's lips.

"Okay, _Katarzyna_ I'm your mentor, Celestyn..."

"Celestyn Danuta," Katarzyna blurted, winning another harsh glare. She smiled nervously. "I've been a huge fan of yours for so long! You're completely amazing! You're what inspired me to become a career! You're what made me want to be a victor."

Celestyn smiled. Clearly the flattery had made up for the interruption. "Thanks. But you're not a victor yet. If you want me to mentor you, then you've got to remember that. Arrogance is one of this district's biggest flaws. You all think that the world revolves around you."

"I don't..."

"I'm not finished. Another thing you've got to remember is to let me speak. If you're constantly cutting over me like that then how am I meant to teach you?"

"I... I'm sorry, Miss Danuta."

"Celestyn," she corrected her. "You're Jedrek's kid, are you? I'd never have guessed. But if you're at all like him then you've got the drive to win. Determination is a good thing, cockiness is not. Tell me, Katarzyna, can you win the games?"

"I wouldn't be here if I couldn't," Katarzyna said firmly.

Celestyn laughed. "Well, you're certainly confident. What else have you got?"

"I can fight..."

"Of course you can, you're a Career. What makes you _different_?"

Katarzyna cleared her throat. "I know what it's like to be a victor – I've lived like one my whole life. I already have the money, the house, the lifestyle, I'm not here for any of that. I'm not here for me at all. I'm here for District One and everyone I've left behind. For my friends, my father. And I am going to make them proud. I'm going to prove to the world that the Klementyn's are a force to be reckoned with."

"No one's here just for their district. Think again. Why are you really here?"

Katarzyna paused, taking in the question. "I'm... I'm here to win. I'm not weak, I'm just as strong as my father. I'm not him. I'm better." She couldn't quite believe what she'd just said. She'd spent her whole life under her father's rules. Speaking out like that, to even suggest that there was a chance she could be as good as him, would have earned her the brunt of his fury.

"So it's time to stop living in Daddy's shadow, is it? Good for you. I think I like you, Katarzyna. There's something about you, you've got that spark that so many tributes lack. You know what? I'll say it. I think I could turn you into a victor."

Katarzyna grinned broadly. Even the slightest word of praise from her idol meant more than the world to her. It was even worth risking her father's anger to hear.

"We'll talk more about strategy later," Celestyn said, glancing at the clock. "They'll be showing the reaping recaps soon, and you have to meet your ally before then."

"What, Tyler?" Katarzyna said, following Celestyn out of the carriage as the train gained speed. "I already know him."

"You're friends?"

"Well, not really. I helped train his sister once – you know how they do that training thing where you have to help out the younger ones? Anyway, we got along pretty well and were kind of friends, so I've met him a few times."

"So you're acquaintances? That way there's some familiarity, but no emotional bonds. That's the best way to be."

"Why?" Katarzyna said, the train almost throwing her off balance as she turned a corner. She managed to keep both feet firmly on the ground.

"Because there's a good chance you'll have to kill that boy."

With that delightful thought in her head, Katarzyna walked through into the room where Tyler Heart was waiting. He was slumped on a leather sofa that faced a television where some Capitol woman was going on about how good the games were going to be. Katarzyna froze when she saw him. Up until then, all of her thoughts about killing had only involved faceless kids from other districts. She hadn't really thought of them as people, just obstacles that had to be removed in order for her to win. Now, all she could think about was killing Tyler, and it made her feel hollow. He'd have to die at some point though. She'd spent years of her life getting over the whole killing thing. It had been the thing that had put her off of the games at first, but she thought that she'd be able to do it. She didn't want to, but she could. She'd make sure that her victims died with dignity, with some honour, rather than drawing out their deaths into torture like she'd seen past Careers do. She'd make it quick.

She wondered if Tyler was thinking similar thoughts as she sat down beside him. He gave a vague greeting, but his attention was fixed on the television. She glanced at him, and for the first time realised how young he was. He was only sixteen, but already taller than she was. When it was eighteen year olds in the arena it was almost like adults fighting it out. To Katarzyna, that was better than children. She didn't know how she'd cope if she ended up in an arena full of twelve year olds. The glow from the television picked out the icy blue of Tyler's eyes. There was no fear in them. Katarzyna turned back to the screen.

"Have I missed anything?" she asked.

"Nope, they're about to show us."

Katarzyna nodded and the anthem flared into life in the television. She watched as the camera showed the square in District One that she'd just left, full of people and decorations. Her name was called and she winced as she saw the girl on the screen freeze and tense up. Tyler gave a bark of laughter.

"Nice start there."

"I was just shocked!" Katarzyna said. "I was going to volunteer anyway."

"Of course you were. You don't come across at all like a scared kid there."

"They know I'm good really," Katarzyna said quickly. "They know who my father is."

She stopped herself from saying anything else. Celestyn was right – she needed to stop living in her father's shadow. She needed to be her own victor.

The camera changed to show District Two, less extravagantly made up than District One, but equally excited about the reaping. A boy volunteered, looking slightly shocked at himself for doing it. He was only fifteen.

"Kaleb Endrich," she said. "What do you think?"

"He's a Career?" Tyler commented disdainfully.

"He must be - he volunteered."

Tyler shrugged, and the District Two girl volunteered. There could be no argument about whether Terrana Stoner was a Career. Everything about her was confident, and she somehow seemed much taller than she actually was. Even through the television screen, her glare was intimidating as she proudly declared herself as the daughter of two victors.

"Looks like your record's been beaten," Tyler said.

Katarzyna said nothing, though inside she was panicking. Terrana was clearly a force to be reckoned with, while Katarzyna had looked like a surprised little girl. She didn't even have her father to hide behind any more.

The District Three reaping calmed her nerves. Although the boy was fairly well-built, his weak smile and frightened eyes marked him as just another district kid. The girl was a slight little thing, but the grin on her face as she was reaped was slightly disconcerting.

Then it was District Four – Katarzyna's other allies. The boy was a volunteer, a huge red-head. Every inch of him was covered in muscle, and he towered above everyone else in the district. Another one that she'd be glad to have as an ally, and would be terrified of as an enemy. No one volunteered for the girl who'd been called. It was sad, watching the horror slowly grow on her face as she realised that she was going into the games. Valkyrie definitely didn't look useless though. Her tanned body was toned and she looked like she was used to work. A bandage was wrapped around her left hand and her white-blonde hair shone in the sun. To be honest, she didn't look like a bad ally. Katarzyna made a mental note to make her one of the Careers.

District Five was nothing special. There was a shocked looking boy with messy dark hair, and a very plain looking girl. She looked very awkward with the eyes of the crowd on her. Katarzyna almost felt sorry for her, but didn't think about it too much. She wanted the other districts to remain as anonymous as possible in her mind.

District Six was up next. A pretty girl made her way onto the stage, wiping tears from her eyes as she did so. There would be no threat from her. The boy however...

"Damien Snowe?" the Capitol commentator exclaimed. "As in, Riden Snowe? Looks like we've got the child of another victor in the arena!"

They were right. The boy that walked onto the stage, coat billowing behind him, was the spitting image of the very shocked looking mentor that sat at the back of the stage. Damien didn't share his father's surprise though – his eyes were cold and bored as he looked out over the crowd. Katarzyna could remember watching Riden's games – she'd watched nearly every games in the last twenty years as part of her training. Riden had been cold and manipulative. He'd talked his way into the Career pack then killed them all in their sleep without remorse. If Damien was as much like his father as he looked, then he'd definitely be one to watch out for.

With so many children of victors in the games, Katarzyna didn't have anything to set her apart. She was just another Career. There was no shadow for her to hide in now – she was left in the open. It was up to her to stand tall.

**

* * *

Serene Asire – District Six**

The tears that Serene had never wanted to cry worked their way back into her eyes as she heard her name called again. She blinked them away as quickly as before. Of all of the moments of her life that she could have relived, being reaped definitely wouldn't have been her chosen one.

Damien's name was called again and she glanced along the sofa at him. He didn't seem bothered. There wasn't much that seemed to faze him, nothing much that seemed to have an effect on him at all. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with him, he seemed perfectly nice, but nothing seemed to interest him. He was permanently apathetic, like the world was something that he was just putting up with. Serene didn't understand how he could be like that. To her, the world was something brilliant for her to explore, something she had to experience. She might not have had much time left to experience it, but she was trying her best not to think about that.

She tried talking to him again. "So, what do you think of the tributes so far?"

Damien shrugged. "They're a mixed lot."

"Who do you think..."

"Serene, please be quiet. I'm trying to concentrate."

She didn't attempt to talk again, just settled back into the uneasy silence.

The cameras finally left District Six and District Seven took its place. Serene watched as a girl with hair the colour of a burning flame walked onto the stage. Somehow, she managed to look even more indifferent to the reaping than Damien had done. Maybe they'd get on well together. After her, a tall boy was reaped. He looked pretty fragile, physically and emotionally. He was fighting off tears as he shook hands with the girl.

Serene pulled her legs up onto the sofa as District Eight appeared on the screen. It felt strange, watching all of these people, these_ children_, that she'd have to kill in a few days. She wasn't sure what scared her more – that she had to kill them, or that she thought she'd be able to do it. It went against her nature in every way, but, if push came to shove, she'd do anything to survive. She'd just have to make sure that she didn't find any friends in the arena. Allies were okay, but not friends. This was a fight to the death – there was no room for relationships to get in the way. She'd have to make a conscious effort not to make friends though. Serene loved people, she loved finding out everything about them. Every moment of her spare time was spent with her friends – she didn't know how she'd be able to cope without them. But none of the kids in the arena could ever replace her friends, and she wouldn't let them.

The boy from Eight looked like he might be a competitor in the games. He was fairly tall and fairly strong, and the look in his eyes was anger rather than terror. The girl was just another tribute. She was eighteen, but there was nothing to set her apart from the others.

Then it was District Nine's turn. To Serene, it suddenly felt like there were a lot more than twenty-four tributes in the arena. When she'd had to watch it at home she'd basically forgotten about all of the tributes she'd labelled as bloodbath deaths. Now, she couldn't afford to forget about any of her opponents.

She didn't know what to think about District Nine. A thirteen year old girl was reaped, but just because she was the youngest tribute didn't mean she was the weakest. There was something about her that made Serene label her as a threat. Somehow, she seemed much older than she looked. A messy-haired boy was called onto the stage, looking more startled than scared. He was pretty plain – seventeen but young looking, fairly tall but not exactly muscular.

Serene didn't want to risk not paying attention in the later districts. Just because they were often weaker didn't mean that they would be. But District Ten was hardly going to be dangerous. Both tributes were fourteen, and the boy wasn't even as tall as the girl. At least neither of them broke down crying like she'd seen some tributes do in the past.

District Eleven, only one more district to go. A frail looking girl from the seventeens was chosen, but a younger girl volunteered – strange for such a late district. The girl was no Career though. Judging by her surname, she was the older girl's sister. The girl from the seventeens cried and sobbed as her sister walked onto the stage. Serene couldn't help but feel slightly jealous. Her sister would never have considered volunteering for her. Then again, Serene knew that she'd have a much better chance in the games than Angel ever would have done.

A gasp ran through the on-screen crowd and Serene's eyes widened as the boy for Eleven was chosen. He was fifteen, and was like no one she'd ever seen before. No one alive, at least. His left eye was gone. Skin was stretched over his empty eye socket. That whole side of his face was misshapen and twisted by scars and was a deathly white which stood out against the darker skin on the other side of his face. The effect continued onto his hair. Half of it was black, the other bleached white. Without the scarring, he wouldn't have looked at all dangerous, but with it, he was someone Serene wanted to avoid. How on Earth had that happened to his face? She glanced at Damien, but he showed no reaction as the boy walked onto the stage.

As the commentators babbled excitedly, District Twelve took its place on the screen. The tributes from there seemed slightly stronger than usual, but still nothing that she was really scared of. The girl's grey eyes were determined as she looked out over the crowd. The boy, despite being eighteen, didn't look particularly strong. There was nothing unusual about those two.

The anthem played and the last district faded. Serene sighed, relieved that it was finally over, and Damien turned off the television. There weren't any tributes there that Serene could be sure would go down without a fight. Any one of those kids was a potential opponent, or a potential ally. She hadn't even thought about which one she'd choose as an ally. It had to be someone that she could trust, but not someone that she'd grow too attached to. She looked back at Damien. Very few people would turn on their district partners, and she couldn't see herself growing close to him. It seemed like a good idea to her.

"Um... Damien?" she said.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to be allies?" she said hopefully. "I mean, there are a lot of tough tributes out there, and if we team up then we'd be stronger."

"Perhaps," Damien said, "but if I want to be strong, shouldn't I team up with the tougher tributes?"

"But you can trust me," Serene said. "And we're from the same district. That's got to mean something."

Damien shrugged. "I would say that staying alive means more."

Serene glared at him. There was definitely no way she'd ever become attached to this boy. She could probably stab him in the back if she wanted to. So she still wanted him as an ally. "Just because my dad isn't a victor doesn't mean I'm useless!"

Damien smiled condescendingly. "I was not suggesting that. I was merely saying that there could be alternate alliances that would benefit us both better."

"As in: you think you could do better than me."

"I never said that," Damien said through gritted teeth. "But I must say, you are doing a fantastic job of talking yourself out of an alliance."

"There would have had to have been an alliance to talk myself out of if that was true."

"I was considering your offer. Emphasis on the was."

"Good luck getting any alliance with that attitude!"

"Damien."

Serene jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. She turned to see Riden Snowe – Damien's father and her mentor. He chose to mentor both of them, but she suspected that it was just because he didn't want to risk anyone else training his son. She didn't think that he'd even noticed she was on the train.

"Food's ready," Riden said.

Damien nodded and followed his father out of the carriage. Serene followed a few paces behind, listening in on their conversation.

"I'm guessing you watched the reapings?" Riden asked.

"Of course. Interesting tributes this year."

"Who do you think is the biggest threat?"

"I'm not sure. There are some in the Careers that I don't like the look of, but the rest look pretty average to me. Maybe Creedence from Eight or Raylene from Seven, but I'm not sure."

"What about the girl from Nine?" Serene chimed in and the Snowes looked over their shoulders at her, as if they were surprised to see her there.

"What, the little one?" Damien said with a faint laugh. "She's nothing."

"Don't overlook her," Riden said. "Serene's right, she looked pretty determined to win."

"Everyone is determined to win," Damien said. "No one wants to die."

"So don't overlook anyone," Riden said, turning back to his son.

Well, at least he'd acknowledged Serene a little.

The three of them continued down the corridor and into the dining carriage. The meal laid out on the table before them was unlike anything Serene had seen before, and she was definitely not poor. She thought that she ate very well, and she did – in comparison with the rest of the district. Even the most extravagant of meals she'd ever seen paled when compared to the banquet that the Capitol served.

She sat down beside the escort, a Capitol man with wildly styled teal hair. Unlike other escorts, he appeared to keep his mouth shut around the tributes. As far as Serene was concerned, that was a good thing. Damien sat down opposite her and the four of them ate in silence. The food was as delicious as she'd expected it to be, but she couldn't enjoy it. She was still very aware that she was being sent to her death.

"So, have you thought about alliances at all?" Riden asked and Serene looked up. Of course, he wasn't talking to her. His words were purely aimed at his son.

"We were just talking about it," Damien said.

"We?"

"Yeah, Serene and me." Damien nodded in her direction.

"You're going to be allies?" Riden said, slightly alarmed.

"I don't see why not," Damien said.

"Are you sure that..."

"I've done some training," Serene said, cutting into the conversation. She wasn't happy with them talking about her when she was right beside them. And why had Damien suddenly changed his mind? "Just in case I was reaped. I'm pretty good, not useless."

"There are lots of tributes worse than her," Damien said with a shrug.

"And lots better," Riden said.

"But I doubt Serene will turn on me." Damien looked towards her and smiled a fake smile. "Will you?"

"I..."

"Well, I guess this'll make you easier to train," Riden said, looking Serene up and down, and really looking at her for the first time since she was reaped.

Serene could only look at Damien. She didn't know whether she wanted to thank him or to kill him. He'd given her an ally – the ally that she'd wanted - but there was something about his smirk that made her uneasy. She'd chosen him because she'd thought he would be trustworthy. Now, she wasn't so sure. One of them was going to end up with a knife between their shoulder blades, she just didn't know which.

**

* * *

This chapter was ridiculously long because I had so many tributes to cover. Other chapters will go back to being about 3000 words, probably shorter because I imagine I'm going to rush them to get to the games quickly. I can't wait for the games to begin!**

**Again, please let me know what you thought, especially if these were your tributes :) Remember, I will kill your tribute if you don't review! *evil laugh***

**On that note, I'm not blind. I have seen some of these tributes in other fics, including fics that I have tributes in. These tributes will not win, but they won't necessarily die straight away either. It does mean I'm going to have to kill off some of the tributes I really like because they're in fics that also have my tributes in. I'd just find it really confusing to write a character I was also reading about :( Sorry about this – I love all of the tributes. I'm going to find killing any of them very difficult!**


	6. Light and Dark

**Bliric Hozzay – District Eleven**

Bliric stood in the centre of the room, under the watch of hundreds of other Blirics that lived in the mirrors around the edge of the space. There used to be a time when he couldn't bear to see himself in the mirror, but he was used to it now. Each of the Bliric's only had one eye and half a face each. It had been that way for so long that he couldn't remember seeing a reflection with both eyes. There was one photo of him back at home, taken when they could afford such things. It was a family portrait, with his father smiling, his newborn sister in his mother's arms, and a five year old Bliric grinning at the front, both eyes open. He'd never seen his mother smile like she had done in that photo. Six months later, Bliric's face had melted and his father had died.

Bliric didn't want to let his mind drift back. That memory was painful, he wouldn't let it take him over again. He was pulled back into reality, where a prep team of vibrantly coloured Capitol people fussed over him. They wouldn't look at his face though, not unless they really had to. He scared them, he knew that. Lots of people were scared of him, but these Capitol people made no attempt to hide it. They either stared right at the scar, clearly thinking the dreaded question "How did it happen?", or they looked at anything other than it. They'd probably never seen anyone with a scar before. In the Capitol, people were made of plastic. The most horrific of injuries could be airbrushed out. They'd never get the injuries in the first place though. Health and safety was strictly enforced in the Capitol, but they didn't give a damn about it in District Eleven. They seemed to force the workers into the least safe working environments possible. Bliric had been one of the lucky ones – at least he still had his life.

One of the Capitol girls tentatively tried to apply makeup to his scar in an attempt to even out his skin tone. It didn't work. The chemical that had burnt Bliric had bleached half of his face and hair, which stood out dramatically next to his naturally quite dark skin. No amount of make-up would ever make it look normal. The scar seemed to reject the foundation and powder, remaining as pale as ever. The girl sighed and got on with the rest of his makeup. Just a bit of eyeliner while another of the prep team struggled to make his hair look normal. They whispered like Bliric couldn't hear them. He heard the words "impossible task", "freak" and "why did we get this one?" much more than he'd have liked to. He blocked it out and just stared at the Bliric in the mirror opposite him. The prep team stood aside and he saw how he looked. Nothing short of surgery would have got rid of his painful thinness, but otherwise he didn't look that bad. As long as he could ignore the face, that was. The dirt was gone and his skin shined from all of the things they'd put on it. He'd tried not to look when they were doing that – ever since his accident he'd been wary of strange chemicals. He knew that his prep team wouldn't have applied a dangerous pesticide to his skin, but the contents of those brightly coloured bottles still worried him.

They'd managed to make his hair look quite good as well. He'd never minded the colour of his hair as much as the scar. Half of it was white blond, the other half was black. The careful styling of his prep team had certainly made it striking. Striking was fine – it would make him memorable – being repulsive was not. But the scar was part of who he was, and it was not going anywhere. If it scared the other tributes then that was a good thing. It would keep them away from him.

Maybe they could fix the scar if he won the games. He doubted it though – it was probably too serious for even the Capitol to mend.

The prep team dispersed, leaving Bliric alone in the mirror room. He sighed ran a hand through his hair. He'd been trying to grow the blonde side into a fringe long enough to hide his empty eye socket, but the hair on that side was brittle and would never grow particularly long. He had managed to get it long enough that it almost reached his eye though. Well, where his eye would have been.

The door opened and a young Capitol woman walked in. Her hair was bright pink and shot out of her head in a pair of ridiculously large pigtails. She wasn't one of his prep team – she must have been his stylist. Her gaze was firmly fixed on the floor as she walked towards him. Great, another one who couldn't stand the sight of him.

"Here, put this on." She held something out to him.

It was a mask. Not a whole mask, just half a mask. The left half of a mask. It shimmered golden under the lights and had the red outline of an eye marked on it.

"I won't have a mask in the arena," Bliric said. Anger at the Capitol was building inside of him, but he pushed it away. He was going to be wearing his scar in the games, so they better get used to it.

"You'll have an eyepatch," the stylist said. "I spoke to the Gamemakers about it."

"So I'm not allowed to be myself?" Bliric snapped.

"Not if you want sponsors," she said, looking at his face for the first time. "The whole 'scarred and scary' thing only works if you've got the muscles to back it up. The only way you're going to stand a chance of getting sponsors is if you cover up that scar."

Bliric said nothing and snatched the mask out of her hands. He stared down at it for a moment and its single red eye stared back. Reluctantly, he placed it over the scar. It fitted the form of his face perfectly and needed nothing to stay in place. It just balanced there. He flicked his fringe over the top of it. In the mirror, he looked like he was part robot or something. The mask split him in half even more than the scar had done.

"Better?" he asked, still able to talk with the mask covering half of his mouth.

"_Much _better. I'm Thalea by the way, your stylist."

"I'd guessed that."

"Look, I'm sorry about covering the scar, but it's something that had to be done," she said, with no qualms about looking at him now that the mask was in place. "You understand, don't you?" She didn't wait for a reply. "You look so much better now – the right side of you really isn't bad looking you know."

He wasn't sure if that was intended as a compliment or not. He didn't take it as one.

"Now we can play you as some kind of tragic hero or something," she continued. "I'm sure that'll go down well with the audience, rather than having you as a melty-faced monster."

He glared at her. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He'd learnt how to deal with insults though – he had to deal with them every day. Looking like he did, he attracted a lot of attention.

"Can you just tell me what you're dressing me up as now?" he said and Thalea grinned back at him, clearly excited about throwing her ideas at him.

"Well, I wanted to go with something completely different from normal," she said, the words coming out so fast that he struggled to keep up. "I mean, the whole costumes made of food and grain and that kind of stuff is _so _overdone. So I was thinking, what else is there to do with District Eleven. It was really difficult – you guys don't really produce stuff with much variation, do you? Anyway, I eventually settled on the harvest, which then led me onto the idea of autumn as a whole. And then I saw you and decided to go for a kind of day slash night thing, 'cause it'd work well with your hair. It kind of fitted with the autumn harvest thing as well, 'cause it's a time of change and all that."

Bliric waited to see if she'd continue, but she was silent, waiting expectantly for his approval.

"So what am I wearing?"

"It's a kind of spirit of autumn thing," Thalea said. "With a night and day twist. I'll go and get it for you, I think you'll like it."

Bliric watched, relieved, as she sped out of the room. If he'd managed to decipher her ramblings then the costume didn't actually sound that bad. It was just the mask that he had to wear that he loathed. It stopped the world from seeing who he really was, and she treated that like a good thing. Maybe it was. The Bliric in the reflection certainly looked more like how he was inside, but his right half always did, with its young features and pale green eyes. Now, instead of having the scar, his left half was metallic. That was wrong. The scar might not have reflected his personality, but it was still part of him, as much as he hated it.

Thalea charged back into the room, smiling as she carried his outfit in her arms. She held it out to him, and he was actually quite impressed. It was much more modest than the majority of costumes, completely covering his arms and legs. There was a high collared jacket, decorated with silver embroidery of moons and stars on one side and golden suns on the other. The bracers, belt and sash were all made from wheat stalks, though they weren't glaringly obvious. It represented District Eleven, but in a subtle way, unlike the tributes from last year who were paraded around wearing nothing but apples. The whole thing shimmered golden when it caught the light, so slightly that he almost thought he imagined it, but enough to give it an air of magic.

"What do you think?" Thalea asked.

"I... I like it," Bliric said with a slight smile that was mostly obscured by the mask.

Thalea's smile widened. She was trying her best to help, he knew that. She'd covered the scar to make the Capitol look at him without disgust. She'd dressed him like a prince rather than a monster. Bliric just wished that people could see him like that – who he was inside – without having to hide his face.

* * *

**Clair Tomison – District Three**

Clair had never been beautiful before. She'd never been ugly – she'd always thought that her wavy blonde hair was quite pretty, but it had never shone like her prep team had made it do. In every mirror she saw herself, her hair perfectly styled, her skin flawless and a slight shadow of glitter on her eyelids. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought she was a Capitol girl.

"Clair, stop fidgeting," said one of her prep team.

"Sorry," Clair said, although she hadn't noticed she was moving. "I was just admiring your work!"

"Thanks," said the woman with a smile. "Wait until we're finished though – you'll love it even more then!"

Clair grinned, she couldn't wait. She had no idea what her costume would be like. District Three costumes were usually very hit or miss. Either they were amazing and shone more than the District One costumes, or they were a drab and dreary grey. Clair was confident that hers would be amazing. They wouldn't make her _that_ pretty if they were just going to dress her up as a circuit board, would they?

The door opened and a flamboyantly dressed man walked in. Everything about him screamed stylist, and Clair was sure that she'd seen him on television before. She flashed him a smile, but he seemed unamused.

"Clair," he said, looking her up and down. "I am your stylist, Crius."

"Pleased to meet you," Clair said.

"Now, I'm sure you're eager to know what your outfit is."

Clair nodded frantically. There weren't many good things about going into the games, but the Capitol makeover was one of the few advantages. She'd been looking forward to it since the moment she was reaped.

Crius clicked his fingers and the prep team hurried out of the room. He inspected her with analytical eyes, though she knew that he'd already made her costume. He was probably trying to work out exactly how it was going to look on her. She wished that she could see what he could see in his mind – she was sure that any of the costumes that she was dreaming up were nothing compared to his vision. She'd always respected the stylists greatly. How could they come up with such brilliant costumes in just a couple of days? Back at home she would sew in her free time, but it would take her a week to finish just a piece of embroidery. An entire outfit would take her months to design and create.

The prep team scurried in again, but now their arms were full. The thing that they carried with them must have been Clair's costume. Her expectations fell as she looked at it. It was so... grey. Well, of course it was grey, it was metal after all. It was in lots of pieces, like a suit of armour or something. What did armour have to do with District Three?

"You're not impressed, I see," Crius said, noticing her expression.

"Well... I..."

"Don't worry." A faint smile appeared on Crius's lips. "I'm sure you'll like it when you see it on." He looked over his shoulder at his prep team. "Get her ready," he ordered.

"I _can _dress myself," Clair said.

"Of course you can. But you can't prepare yourself."

Clair tried to think of something to say, but no words volunteered as the prep team surrounded her. She closed her eyes as hands reached towards her. Maybe Crius was right, maybe the costume would be good after all. She promised herself that she wouldn't open her eyes until the costume was on.

She had to wait a long time though. The chill touch of metal surrounded her as the prep team fastened her costume onto her limbs. It was close fitting, but not tight. It fitted her form perfectly. Had they managed to measure her without her noticing or something? The metal didn't cover everywhere. She tried to guess what the costume was from where she could feel the armour against her skin. There were bracers, boots, some kind of breastplate, a metal choker around her neck, pauldrons and shorts that she could already feel restricting her movement. She was kind of excited to see what it actually looked like, despite her initial pessimism.

Then there was something else on her skin. Cold and clammy, some form of glue by the feel of it. What were they sticking on her? It felt like thin strings, but she couldn't think of a reason why that would be there. She giggled at the feel of it, and one of them asked her to stay still again. She whispered an apology and went back to contemplating her armour. The now-familiar tickle of makeup brushes ran over her face and fingers and brushes styled her hair. She'd thought that they'd finished with hair and makeup, but clearly not. The glue was on her face as well, running up her neck and onto her cheeks. A final piece of metal was wrapped round her head, and the outfit was done.

"You can open your eyes now," Crius said.

"Is it finished?" she asked, unable to hide her excitement.

"Not quite," he said. There was a brief pause. "Now open them."

She did, and was greeted with nothing. The lights were off in the room, throwing her into darkness. All she could see was black.

"Um... Crius? I can't see in the dark, you know."

Crius laughed. "Press the button in the centre of your costume."

Clair found a small button in the middle of her breastplate. Anxiously, she pressed it. Around her, the room burst into light. She gasped when she saw her costume - it was incredible. The metal hugged her figure, but not in an overly revealing way. Trails of blue light had lit up all over it. She stared down at her hands in wonder. Wires had been glued onto her skin in swirling patterns. They flowed off of the armour onto her and lit up with the same blue glow, as if she was part of the costume. She was a machine, an android sent from District Three to win the games. The silver eyeshadow that was dusted above her eyes made her grey irises look almost metallic. There were glowing blue strands in her hair and a silver circlet ran round her head, finishing the whole thing off with a glowing blue stone in the centre of her forehead.

Especially with the light reflected by all of the mirrors, the costume was more than incredible.

"So – what do you think?"

It was a rare day when Clair was left completely speechless, but the costume had stolen her voice. She just grinned. Nothing she could have said would have truly expressed her love for the costume. It was brilliant. It was graceful and elegant, but there was something deadly about it as well. She was a robot – a cold killer. It was beautiful, making her look older than her fourteen years, like she might actually be a threat to the older tributes. At the same time, it was fun. It was bright, shiny, and she literally lit up the room. She'd admired stylists before. Now, she was in awe of them.

If she won the games, she'd have to see if there was some way that she could become a stylist rather than a mentor. It looked like such a fun job. She wouldn't even mind if she was given District Twelve, as long as she could bring her dreams to life in the form of clothes as beautiful as her android armour.

"Clair?" Crius asked, pulling her out of her blue dreamland.

"What? Oh!" She realised that she hadn't told him any of that, and blushed. "It's incredible! I love it so much!"

"I told you you'd like it."

"You were right!" She grinned at her reflections as she looked at her outfit from all angles. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

She hugged him, though her movement was limited by the armour. One of her prep team laughed and Crius cleared his throat. Realising that he might not actually like her cold metal arms around him, she let go.

"Sorry about that," she said.

"No need, no need," Crius said. "Always a pleasure to know that my work is appreciated."

"It's more than appreciated! I'd dress like this every day if I could! Well, if it was slightly more practical," she added, struggling to raise her arm at any angle greater than ninety degrees from her body.

"Well, I'm very flattered," Crius said, strolling to the edge of the room and turning the lights back on.

The effect of the costume wasn't as great under light as it was in darkness, but it was still very impressive. Clair was certain that she was going to be one of the stand out tributes in the chariots. Which was good, as she was positive that she wasn't going to stand out in training. But the thought of clumsily handling unknown weapons was out of her mind as she continued to gaze at her costume. That was tomorrow, it came later. All that mattered was the present, and at the present she was a beautiful cyborg, about to shock and wow the Capitol and all of Panem. She couldn't wait.

* * *

**These characters were two of my favourites to write, they're very different but (hopefully) both likeable. There are so many tributes in this that I love though, I have no idea how I'm going to kill them off :(**

**Reviews are loved, as always :) **

**Just to warn you, this may be the last chapter for a couple of weeks. I have AS Level exams coming up that I **_**really **_**need to revise for, so that's going to take up most of my time. I'll try to get some writing done, but it's not my priority. I'm not abandoning this story – I love it and the characters and I can't wait to get to the arena – but I'm just taking a little break so I might stand a chance at passing these exams. Thanks so much for all of the support you've given – the amount of reviews has been unbelievable! I hope you don't mind my absence that much. **


	7. Sparkles and Shadows

**Tyler Heart – District One**

District One made sparkly things, so it made sense that their costumes were sparkly. Tyler Heart definitely wasn't a sparkly thing. He was Career, a vicious killing machine. The sparkly costume didn't really give that impression. There was no way he could look threatening in it – even Katarzyna in her little golden dress looked tougher than he did. It was just so... sparkly. There was no other way to describe the monstrosity that he'd been forced into.

The holding area was pretty much empty when they arrived, empty apart for the horses and a few other tributes. Although there were thin wooden walls between each chariot, there was nothing stopping him from wandering off. So while Katarzyna petted one of the horses that was going to pull their chariot, Tyler strolled to the edge of their little pen.

Across from them the District Six tributes were getting into their chariot. A doctor and a nurse, how very original. It was still much better than his outfit though. District Six was already on his list of tributes to watch out for. The boy's father had been a victor, and Tyler highly doubted that he'd have grown up with no training. The girl didn't look like she'd die easily either. As the boy helped her up into the chariot, he glanced over at Tyler. His cold eyes bit into him for a second, but he looked away again.

Tyler turned away from them. It was probably better if they didn't think he was spying on them. Two more tributes walked in, dressed in a matching black dress and suit. The girl's dress was covered in lace and gauze that floated around her like smoke and the boy's had similar decoration, though it was slightly subtler. Both of them wore heavy eye makeup, though it suited the girl much better than the boy. She looked like some spirit of death, with her pale skin and black hair. It took Tyler a while to work out who they were, then they turned in to the first stall on their left. They were the District Twelve tributes? Although they were both thin, neither of them were the malnourished scrawny things that Twelve usually spat out.

Another pair of tributes followed them in – a pair that Tyler was much more interested in. It was the District Two tributes. Terrana stormed ahead, her oh-so-short skirt seemingly in constant danger of becoming a belt. Behind her was Kaleb, who was shaking slightly as he took his place in the chariot. Terrana didn't join him, and instead headed straight for Tyler. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. It had been rather obviously bleached at the reapings, but the Capitol had made it seem like she was naturally blonde.

"Allies?" she asked.

"Yeah, allies," Tyler replied, quickly looking Terrana up and down.

He could tell just by looking at her that she was strong. Her body – which he could see quite a lot of in her current outfit – was lithe and muscular, without a scrap of fat in sight. She was slightly scary, slightly brilliant, but definitely someone he'd be happy to team up with.

He looked past her, to where Kaleb stood awkwardly in the chariot. He seemed much smaller than he actually was, absorbed in his own little world.

"Is he one of us?" Tyler asked Terrana.

She shrugged. "No idea. He's not said much to me since we were reaped. His dad's a Peacekeeper though, I imagine the kid's had some training."

"We'll see if we can get him at training tomorrow."

"Yeah, we're going to need all of the help we can get, especially with that girl from Four. Did you see her? She didn't even volunteer!"

"Neither did Katarzyna though."

Katarzyna looked over at them at the sound of her name. She flashed a smile at Terrana, who didn't even attempt to send one back.

"I'm guessing Klementyna's one of the gang then," Terrana said as Katarzyna turned back to the horses.

"Yeah," Tyler said. "She's good, don't worry about her."

"I'm sure she's brilliant."

Terrana's icy eyes were fixed on Katarzyna. She was sizing her up, both as an ally and an enemy. The two girls couldn't look any more different – Katarzyna's skin was tanned and her hair dark, while Terrana looked as if all of the colour had been drained out of her – but they were both Careers. They'd either be a lethal team or mortal enemies. Tyler wasn't sure which he'd prefer. Two strong allies would help him, but there was always a chance that they'd realise how well they fought together and turn on him. If they were enemies then they'd pick each other off, taking away his best allies. Well, except Rufus, but Rufus scared him.

Tyler really hoped that Kaleb would join the Careers, if only to steal his current title of the youngest one. All of the other Careers were eighteen – in their last year of eligibility and in top shape to win. He was entirely confident that he had what it would take to be the victor, but he was two years younger than all of them. Not that it bothered him, but the Careers – and the Capitol – might underestimate him because of his age. And his sparkly costume, but he was trying to forget about that. Try as he might, he couldn't wish it out of existence.

Terrana was called away by her stylist and Tyler wandered back over to his chariot where a smiling Katarzyna was waiting for him.

"Getting to know our allies?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tyler said, glancing back across at the District Two chariot. "Well, ally. Looks like there'll only be four of us this year."

Katarzyna's brow furrowed. "Only four? What about that other girl?"

"She's not a Career," Tyler snapped. "She's just a district kid."

"But she doesn't look that bad," Katarzyna said.

"Yeah, but if we were looking for people to boost the numbers then lots of the guys look much better than her."

Katarzyna shrugged. "Well I still think she looks like a good ally."

"I guess we'll find out in training."

That was when everything was going to happen. When the true rivals would show their faces, when the alliances would be formed. It was going to be his chance to prove that he was more than a kid in a sparkly costume. Time to prove that he was going to be the victor.

But that was later. At that moment, Tyler and Katarzyna's chariot was rolling out into the cheers of the Capitol. Under the lights, Tyler's costume glittered more than ever and it took all of his effort to keep a fake smile plastered on his face. Katarzyna seemed to find it much easier as she beamed at the crowds, waving and blowing kisses to her fans. It only took a few minutes for Tyler to wish that the chariot ride was over. Around him, the Capitol cheered his name and he managed a weak wave at them. He caught a glimpse of himself on the big screen, and winced at just how ridiculous he looked. No one was ever going to take him seriously dressed like that.

**

* * *

Ellis Bathsheba – District Ten**

"Are you nervous?"

Ellis jumped slightly at the sound of the voice – he'd been so focused on the chariots disappearing out of the gates to remember the girl standing next to him. He glanced at her to see her wide blue eyes staring back at him.

"I guess so," he said quietly.

She smiled at him. "Don't be. I'm sure it'll be fun."

The District Five chariot left and Ellis felt his heartbeat speed up. It was almost their turn. He was going to have to go out there, face the lights, the crowd...

"I'm Maggie, by the way," the girl said.

"I know, I heard them call your name," Ellis said.

For a brief moment, her smile flickered into a frown. Ellis bit his lip.

"Sorry, I try to forget about that," Maggie said. "Not exactly a pleasant memory. You're Ellis, right?"

Ellis nodded. Why was she talking to him? Didn't she know that they were enemies? Didn't she know that soon he'd have to _kill _her?

"You're in my year, aren't you?" she said. "How come I've never seen you at school?"

Ellis shrugged, his attention fixed on the District Six chariot as it vanished into the Capitol. "I spend a lot of time on the farm," he elaborated as he felt her eyes pressing him for answers.

"Ah – you work already?" Maggie said. "I guess your costume kind of fits then."

Ellis was trying hard to forget about his costume. It was weird, fluffy and woollen. On his hands and feet were strange black clogs. He thought he was probably meant to be a sheep, so that he matched with Maggie's shepherdess costume. Unlike him, Maggie actually looked good in her costume. It was over-the-top, but in a quite nice way with ribbons, frills and bows. Her skirt ballooned out, reaching him even though he was stood as far away from her as he could without falling out of the chariot. Her ridiculously long hair was tied up into elegant curls that framed her pretty face, where the smile was back on her lips.

"I don't work with sheep," Ellis said, pulling at the sleeve of his costume. "It's a cattle farm."

"Oh, I see."

District Seven was next to go, taking the two foliage-clad tributes with it. Only two more chariots to go and it was there go. Ellis clung onto the side of the chariot, his knuckles white.

"My friend works on a farm – do you know her?"

Ellis shook his head. "It's just my family on the farm."

"Doesn't that get kind of lonely?"

"No, I see enough people at school," Ellis said.

"I thought you said..."

"I spend a lot of time at home, that doesn't mean I don't go to school."

Then District Eight was gone. The horses that pulled Ellis's chariot buzzed with anticipation – they knew that it would be their turn soon. Ellis was good with animals, he worked with them every day after all. Animals were so much easier to understand than people. They could be just as unpredictable, but at least they were reliably unpredictable. People weren't. Ellis could never tell who was trustworthy and who wasn't until it was too late. He wasn't going to risk trying to trust someone in the games, he knew that much. The moment he got into that arena, he'd be alone.

"So – what do you do at the farm?" Maggie asked. She just wouldn't give up. Ellis still had no idea why she was showing such an interest in him.

"I work with the cattle," Ellis said.

"I know _that_!" Maggie said with a smile. "I was just wondering if you do anything specific there."

Ellis looked her in the eye for the first time since he'd got onto the chariot. Behind her, the District Nine chariot trundled away. They were next.

"Do you?" she asked.

Ellis nodded.

"What then?"

"I kill them."

Maggie's eyes widened and her smile fell. Quickly, she turned away from him so that she was staring out of the chariot. Ellis sighed. At least her being scared of him was slightly better than her relentless questions. It wasn't anything for her to be scared of though. Loads of people in District Ten were involved in the slaughter of animals – it was a job that would keep them alive. Just because Ellis killed things as part of his work didn't mean that he enjoyed it. It didn't mean that each of the tributes that stood in their chariots were no more than cattle to him. They definitely weren't. Somehow, being surrounded by death only made him realise just how important life was. And now he was in the games, where twenty-three of those important lives were going to be wasted and one would be damaged beyond repair.

He didn't have any more time to think about it. He held on tightly to the edge of the chariot as the horses trotted out into the Capitol. A cheer greeted him, but he was sure that it was for someone else. No one could be supporting someone as small as him in the games. He glanced at Maggie, who was still in a stunned silence. She looked so pale – all of her energy had left her with her smile. Ellis couldn't help but feel responsible for that. On the big screens, the District One girl was waving wildly at the crowd. Her smile looked really fake, unlike Maggie's had done.

"Smile again," he whispered, watching as the screen changed to show the District Three tributes.

"What?"

"Smile. Please." Ellis didn't look at her. "You'll get sponsors."

She didn't say anything, but when the screen changed again it showed them. Maggie was beaming, her whole face lit up. Ellis looked even more nervous than he felt, brown eyes wide with awed fear as the cheers and lights attacked him. He looked away. The weedy boy on the screen didn't have a chance of winning the games. He looked so young, even younger than he was, and so short and skinny. Potential sponsors were probably labelling him as a bloodbath death already. Ellis knew better than that though. He knew that he did have a chance, that he had skills that the other tributes didn't. He was far from a Career, but Careers didn't always win. But for him to win, everyone – including Maggie – would have to die, at least one of them by his hand. He didn't know if he could cope with that.

He sighed and looked up at the screen again, relieved to see that his face had been replaced by the girl from District Twelve. She was beautifully dressed completely in black, with her skin appearing very pale against her dark hair and makeup. But she was his enemy – all of these tributes were. He glanced over his shoulder at the District Eleven chariot. Half of the boy's face was covered by a golden mask. His expression was solemn and stern as he watched the crowd. Ellis remembered seeing him get reaped, and remembered his initial shock at seeing the scar. That explained the mask then. The District Eleven girl was short and small like Ellis, but girls like that could get away with saying that they were petite. If Ellis tried to describe himself as petite he'd be laughed at.

He turned away from Eleven and towards the chariot in front of them. He could barely see the tributes that stood on it, they were blocked by the huge screen of wings attached to the girl's back. What looked like shadow puppets danced over the translucent orange paper of the wings, though Ellis couldn't see where the projections came from. Some of the things the Capitol could do were close to magic. Seemingly from nowhere, these scenes of the hunt were played out on the girl's wings. Rabbits ran across them and stags leapt, fleeing from the tiny arrows of the shadow huntsmen. No wonder the crowd was going wild – the girl's costume was incredible. None of those cheers could be for Ellis.

He kept his head down for the rest of the ride, staring at the floor. He knew that his mentor wouldn't be pleased with him – the chariot rides were a great time to attract the attention of sponsors – but Ellis thought that if his score in training was high enough then he'd be able to win some of them back. He let that thought fill his mind and the bright lights and vibrant colours of the Capitol spun into a hurricane of madness as he willed the whole thing to end.

It did, eventually. The chariots rolled back into the huge stables that they'd come from and the sound of the crowd faded, only to be replaced by the conversations between tributes and stylists. Ellis let go of the chariot, suddenly feeling very unstable as the wood left his hand. He stumbled as he got out. Maggie caught his arm, steadying him.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You're really pale."

Ellis began to nod, but turned it into a shake of his head. "I need to lie down. That was... it was too much."

Maggie smiled weakly. "We'll head back to our rooms then. This costume's getting really hot, I can't wait to get rid of it."

"You looked good," Ellis said.

Maggie grinned. "Thanks."

She let go of his arm and the ground felt more secure beneath his feet. Most of the tributes around him looked happy, as if the chariots hadn't fazed them in the slightest. Did they not realise how strange the whole thing was? They were going to be fighting to the death in just a few days. The chariot rides were like dressing cows in tutus before sending them to the slaughter – utterly pointless and weird.

"Ellis, I'm sorry for reacting the way I did," Maggie said quietly as they left the stables.

"Don't worry about it," Ellis said. "It's perfectly natural."

"I know, but I feel really mean now," Maggie said.

"I'm just glad you started smiling again."

Maggie blushed and looked away from him. Ellis stared at the wooden floorboards as they continued to walk together. He wouldn't let himself like her – she was his enemy, everyone was. All alliances had to be broken, either by death or betrayal. He didn't want that to happen to him. He didn't want to cause himself more pain than he had to.

**

* * *

And I'm back! Exams are over, so I should get back to fairly regular updates again now :) The next couple of chapters will be in training, which I'm really looking forward to writing.**

**I hope you liked this chapter! I found Tyler's POV really difficult to write for some reason, sorry if the writing felt at all awkward. As always, if these were your tributes then **_**please**_** let me know how I wrote them. If you thought I wrote them wrong then tell me, it's the only way I'll be able to fix the way I write them.**

**I still have no idea who's going to die in the bloodbath, so review to save your tribute from it! I feel really mean for this, but it's the only fair way I can think of for choosing the bloodbath deaths.**


	8. Maces and Knives

**Terrana Stoner – District Two**

Proudly bearing her district number on her back, Terra strode into the training hall. It was much bigger than any of the gyms they had at the training centre in District One, and she couldn't wait to show off at all of the stations. She didn't need to train – she knew it all already. Training was just a chance for her to intimidate the other tributes. She was planning all of their deaths already as she scanned the room. Each frightened face she imagined herself driving a knife through.

Kaleb hurried in behind her, turning away from her. She held out an arm to stop him, smiling at the fear that flashed in his eyes every time she looked at him.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.

"I... um..."

"Make up your mind, kid – are you one of us or not?"

"I'm not a Career..."

"Yeah, that doesn't mean you can't team up with us. You must know how to do _something_."

"Why do you want me to team up so much?"

Terra smirked. "'Cause you're from District Two. Kid, you're above everyone else here, just by coming from Two! You don't want to team up with those district kids. You may not be a Career, but you're still my district partner. You're a Career at heart, everyone from Two is."

Kaleb's eyes froze with a subtle anger that Terra hadn't seen before. "If that's the case, then no. I'm not above anyone. Neither are you."

Momentarily taken aback, Terra stared at Kaleb. Maybe he did have a fire inside him, somewhere. Maybe he would actually have been a good ally. "Okay, then let me rephrase that. You join us, or you die. I'll personally hunt you down myself. You won't make it past the bloodbath, kid. And your darling sister at home will watch as my blade rips through your flesh and you beg for mercy." She smiled again. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Kaleb said. "And the answer's still no."

He turned his back on her and walked away. She hadn't been lying. She was going to kill him at the bloodbath. He was going to scream and she was going to enjoy it. It was a shame – she didn't want to turn on her district partner, but he'd disowned his district. He didn't count as a Two anymore. He was just another child that was going to die by her hand.

She strolled over to the main group of tributes and half-listened to the instructor as they were introduced to training. He spoke for far too long – Terra just wanted a chance to have a weapon in her hand again. She didn't feel complete without a weapon. She might have said that she felt naked, but that wasn't the truth. It was more than that. When she didn't have a weapon – be it a sword, mace, anything – she felt as if part of her was missing. Like one of her limbs had disappeared. Weapons and fighting were as important as breathing to her. She couldn't remember a day where she hadn't held a blade.

Finally, the speech ended and the nervous tributes drifted off to the various stations around the room. Terra was tempted to head straight for the sword station, but instead she headed over to the District One tributes. She already liked Tyler much more than Katarzyna. The kid seemed to know what he was doing, while his district partner apparently hadn't realised what she'd signed up to. She was too giggly and happy to be a Career. Terra wanted cold-hearted killers with no mercy. How had Katarzyna grown up like that when she was the daughter of a victor? They must have been too soft on her. Terra's parents had been training her to fight and win as soon as she was able to walk.

"Hey," she said, joining them in the middle of the hall.

"Hi!" Katarzyna said with a beaming smile. Terra resisted the urge to punch her in the face. "Is Kaleb not joining us then?"

Terra shook her head. "Thinks he's above us."

"What about District Four?" Katarzyna asked.

On cue, the boy from Four joined their group. He was by far the largest of the Careers, towering above Terra. He didn't faze her at all though. She'd seen his type before – the brute – all muscle and nothing else. He'd be useful at the bloodbath, and after that he'd only weigh them down.

"Hi, I'm Rufus," he said.

"Hey! I'm Katarzyna," Katarzyna said brightly, holding out a hand to shake.

"Did your parents just pick a bunch of random syllables or something?" Rufus said, leaving her hand empty in the air.

Katarzyna looked a little shocked. Terra smiled. She'd decided that she liked Rufus, actually.

"Is that it now?" Tyler asked.

"What about the Four girl?" Katarzyna asked.

She spotted Valkyrie amongst the other tributes and waved at her. Though Terra and the other Careers did nothing to acknowledge the girl, she hurried over to them.

"She's not a Career," Rufus said.

"What do you mean by that?" Valkyrie said with what Terra could tell was mock confidence.

"I mean that you're not a Career."

"I could be!" Valkyrie said.

"But you're not."

"She could be an ally though," Katarzyna said, smiling warmly at Valkyrie.

"Are you that desperate for allies that you want to be one of us?" Terra said.

Valkyrie hesitated, then nodded carefully. Terra gave a bark of laughter.

"Look, we're not a free lift into the final eight," Terra said, a harsh edge to her voice. "We're not going to be carrying around any dead weight."

"I know that," Valkyrie said."I'm not useless."

"I'll be the judge of that," Terra said.

"Get an eight in training and you're in," Tyler said, and Terra glared at him. She was the one who made decisions like that. Valkyrie bit her lip. Terra could see her confidence crumbling apart around her.

"Seems fair to me," Rufus said.

Terra rolled her eyes. "Fine. Get an eight."

Katarzyna placed a hand on the trembling girl's shoulder. "I'll help you train."

"So there's four of us," Terra said, annoyed at the amount of time these introductions were eating up. "Maybe five. That's a good amount."

"Who's going to be leader?" Katarzyna asked.

Three hands hit the air. Terra glared at Rufus and Tyler. She thought that she'd already done enough to assert her position as leader. Clearly the others hadn't realised this. Idiots.

"I'm leader or I'm out," she said simply.

"That's ridiculous," Tyler said with a bitter laugh.

Terra's frozen eyes snapped up at him and she smiled as he flinched a little. She may have been the smallest of the Careers but that didn't stop them from being scared of her. They had good reason to be frightened. She was going to kill every tribute in the arena, including them. She wouldn't hesitate before killing an ally. In fact, she might enjoy it more than killing a stranger.

"Well it's the way this works," she said. "So I'm the leader, yes? Good, now that's settled go and train. If there's something you're crap at, go practice that. If not, go and show off. Just because there's only four of us doesn't mean that there's any reason for the tributes to be less scared. Now go and show them that."

Tyler looked as if he might protest again, but he just sighed and walked away towards the sword station. Terra caught a glimpse of Kaleb, who was already at the station. He was sparring with the trainer, wooden sword in hand. The kid was actually pretty good. He'd have made a much better ally than Valkyrie. Though Valkyrie wasn't their ally – there was no way that that girl would get an eight.

Valkyrie was hanging around Katarzyna as the District One girl made her way towards the throwing knives. Terra gave a short whistle and the two of them looked around.

"Kat, come here a sec, we need to talk."

"It's Katarzyna to everyone else, it's Katarzyna to you as well," Katarzyna said sharply.

"Whatever, just come here. Just you," she added, with a glare at Valkyrie.

"What is it?" Katarzyna snapped, her usual smile gone and replaced by an annoyed frown.

"No more inviting people into our alliance just because you feel sorry for them," Terra said. "I'm the leader – if we're getting any more allies it's because I asked for them. Understand?"

"She's from District Four," Katarzyna said. "You know what they're like. They're all strong swimmers, most of them can fish and tie knots. I'm sure she'll be useful."

"Oh great, she can throw fish at the other tributes, I'm sure that'll help a lot."

"Can _you_ swim?" Katarzyna shot back.

"No," Terra admitted. "But it's not like good ol' Val is going to be able to drag us all after her if the arena's full of water."

"No, but..."

"Look, I'll stick by what we agreed," Terra said, growing frustrated at Katarzyna. She could see the mace station out of the corner of her eye. She'd much rather be there than having this conversation. "She's in if she gets an eight."

"You know that scores are nothing to go by..."

"Well same applies to you then. Get an eight and you're in. If not, you're out."

"Of course I'll get an eight!"

"Exactly, because you're good. Now run along."

Katarzyna glared at Terra. Terra shrugged and pushed past her towards the mace station. She'd suffered more than enough of the District One girl's company for one day. What she needed was to smash some dummies. That always helped her relieve stress.

**

* * *

Creedence Clifton – District Eight**

Creed looked round the room, taking in all of the stations that surrounded him. Before, he'd thought that he'd be one of the better prepared tributes from the lower districts. But as he mentally ticked off which stations he knew already, he found that his list was much shorter than expected. There was so much he had to learn – some of it he hadn't even realised would come in useful – and he only had three days to do it.

He couldn't choose where to go first. Every station seemed just as important as the others. He could have gone somewhere that he knew he was good at – he saw several of the younger tributes wandering off to survival skills – but that would just be a waste of time. He had three days to become a warrior, he didn't want to waste his time learning something he was already good at. To become a warrior, he had to learn to fight.

The weapons stations were all lined up on one side of the hall. The swords station had been swarmed on by several tributes, both the young enthusiastic ones and the expert Careers. The trainer there had enough on his hands – Creed wouldn't learn much by going there. Next to it, one of the Career girls smashed the head of a dummy with a mace. Creed had already decided that he wasn't going to go to a station populated by Careers, or an empty one. Allies were just as important a resource as abilities in the arena, and he needed to get a move on with finding his.

There were two boys at the knife station, both close to Creed's age. One was watching as the trainer demonstrated how to throw knives, the other was looking through the range of knives on display. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the station.

"I'll be with you in a minute," the trainer called to him as another knife thudded into the target. "Have a quick look at the knives, just get a feel for them in your hand."

Creed nodded and cautiously approached the table where the knives lay. There were so many of them, more than he'd have thought. Some were long, some were short, some were as wide as a sword, some were as thin as a needle. All of them were weapons, all designed to kill. Some were barbed, some serrated, some had little valves in which to store poison. He tentatively reached for the plainest one, but hesitated when he saw the boy opposite him going for it as well.

The boy was slightly shorter than Creed but painfully thin. His tousled hair was blond and his eyes blue. He looked the complete opposite of Creed, though both of them shared a hint of fear in their eyes. He pulled his hand back and let Creed take the knife.

"Thanks," Creed said curtly.

"No problem," the boy said, taking a thin knife from the table.

He spun it with surprising dexterity and smiled. Creed tried to place the boy in his head. His mind flashed back to the reapings and he scanned through the faces he could remember. District Twelve, that was where he was from. Creed couldn't remember his name though.

Creed looked down at the knife in his hand. It just felt wrong; he couldn't find a grip on it that felt balanced. He couldn't imagine fighting with it – he thought he'd be as likely to hurt himself as his opponent. He'd probably just stick to his fists in the arena. They wouldn't turn traitor on him.

The District Twelve boy picked up an apple from the side. Creed watched him, trying to work out what he was doing. He needed to find something to entertain himself until the trainer was ready to instruct him. Without warning, the Twelve threw the apple into the air and brought his knife down through it. It was sliced neatly in two, and the boy caught both halves of the apple in his spare hand. He looked over at Creed and smiled weakly when he saw the other boy staring at him in disbelief.

"If you lived like I did, you'd be able to use a knife too," the boy said, walking back over to the knife table. After spinning the knife one more time he returned it to the table. He ran his fingers over the handles of the others, trying to select which one he'd test next.

"Used to murder already then?" Creed asked.

The boy laughed nervously. "Not exactly. I mean, I've seen more than my fair share of corpses, but I've never... y;know, killed anyone. And I'd really like it to stay that way, to tell the truth."

"If you want to win then you'll have to."

"I'm not an idiot," the boy said, picking up a long knife. "I'm perfectly aware of that. I just don't want to. No one does."

"Apart from those killers," Creed said, nodding towards the District Two girl who was still wildly swinging her mace with force and accuracy.

The boy shrugged. "They're the exception."

"What's your name?" Creed asked. "It's Tire...something, isn't it?"

"Tiresius is the name on my birth certificate," he replied with a slight smile. "But I'm called Jack."

"Bit of a stretch to get there from Tiresius, isn't it?" Creed raised an eyebrow.

"It's a nickname that stuck," Jack said. "I prefer it. Easier to remember, isn't it?"

"I guess. I'm Creed by the way."

"I know – Creedence Clifton." Jack threw half of the apple in the air again and caught it on the blade of the knife. "I'm trying to remember as much about the other tributes as possible, give me a bit of a headstart in the games."

"So what have you got on me?" Creed asked.

"Well, from looking at you you're one of the tougher of us. You're not the smartest kid here, but you're far from stupid."

"Thanks for that."

"I meant it as a compliment!" Jack smiled sheepishly. "You're looking for allies, which is why you're putting up with talking to me, and you have no idea how to use that knife."

"Fairly accurate," Creed said. "But following your logic, if you're putting up with talking to me then..."

"I wouldn't mind being allies, if that's what you're asking. That is what you're asking, isn't it?" He threw half of the apple towards Creed, who fumbled to catch it.

"I think so." Creed took a bite of the apple. "But just allies, not friends."

"Well, there's no controlling that, is there?" Jack said. "But I know what you mean. Alliances can't be permanent, so don't get attached, right?"

"We'd split at the final eight, if we make it that far, that is."

"Good plan. But that's a long way away, so let's just focus on the present. It's all we have any more."

"Sounds like a plan," Creed said. "Can you show me how to use this thing?" He waved his knife in the air. "It doesn't look like the instructor's going to get round to me."

Creed glanced across at where the instructor stood with the other boy, opposite the targets for throwing knives. Taking a deep breath, the boy drew back the knife in his hand and his eyes narrowed to focus on the target. Then the knife flew straight into the bull's eye, handle first. The boy swore loudly and ran his hand through his hair as the trainer tried to give him more advice.

"Ade Wysor, District Nine," Jack said calmly, more to himself than to Creed. "Good aim, but no technical skill with a knife. And a bit of a temper, from the look of it." His gaze slipped back to Creed. "Anyway, right, knives. Used one before?"

"Only to cut vegetables." Creed looked down at the knife in his hand. It was completely different from a kitchen knife, he could tell that just from the feel of the handle. The way it was weighted, the grip, all of it felt like a weapon. Which – of course – it was. This wasn't a knife that was meant to cut carrots.

Jack laughed nervously. "Ah, well, you've got a lot to learn then."

For the next hour or so, Jack tried his hardest to transform Creed from hopeless to kind-of-okay with a knife. It was harder than Creed had thought it was be. The way that Jack used the knife, how it flowed like a part of his body, seemed so effortless. When Creed tried to duplicate Jack's flourishes the knife was ungainly in his hands. It wouldn't do what he wanted it to do, wouldn't move the way it should. All the time, it seemed like it was just as likely to hurt Creed as his opponents. As Jack walked him through drills as repetitive and monotonous as the rhythm of the machines in District Eight, Creed couldn't help but think that he'd be able to deal more damage with his fists. Gradually, despite his aching muscles, Creed began to fall into the patterns of the drills. The knife stopped fighting back and started cutting through invisible enemies like it was supposed to. It began to feel more comfortable in his hand – still foreign and not quite right – but not completely wrong.

"You're getting the hang of it," Jack commented from where he leant against the wall.

"Yeah," Creed said, before realising that talking threw him out of the rhythm again. He stopped drawing lines in the air with the knife and rubbed his arm. "Kind of tiring, isn't it?"

"Yep," Jack said. "Right, now, forget everything you've just learnt."

Creed laughed weakly. "What? Why did you just..."

"How useful are drills going to be in an actual fight?" Jack flipped his knife in the air and caught it again. "If you try to do that and think you're going to win against a Career then you're delusional."

"Then why on earth did you make me learn all that?" Creed exclaimed, glaring at Jack.

"I want you to forget the drills, not how to use the knife," Jack said. "You've gone from being completely terrible to halfway decent, and at least you're not scared of the knife any more."

"I was _never_..."

"Course you were. If you're not scared of weapons then there's something wrong with you." He pushed himself away from the table. "But you can kind of use it now, right? Trust me, going into a fight with that skill is much better than going in blind. Parts of that training will resurface in a fight – look, you're already holding it much better than you used to."

Creed sighed. He saw Jack's point, but wished that he'd been told earlier. It still felt like he'd wasted an hour of his life, even if he hadn't. "So, is that training over?"

Jack nodded. "I don't see how I could teach you any more without sparring, and there were rules against us fighting each other. Before the games at least. Just remember – there are no rules in a fight. Don't bother with fancy moves or any ideas of chivalry. All you want is to get that knife into your opponent before they get theirs into you. So kick, punch, stab, do whatever you can to win. They can teach you how to use weapons here, but they can't teach you truly how to fight. It's something you learn as you go along." He returned his knife to the table. "Now come on, let's go learn which plants are which or something. You need a rest."

In a state of mild shock, Creed lay his knife back down onto the table. It was all beginning to sink in now. He'd known the reality of it for ages, the brutality and ruthlessness of the games, but somehow his time in the Capitol had made it all feel less real. Like it all really was a game, like there would still be some semblance of rules, or even honour inside of the arena. That couldn't be further from the truth. Once they were in the arena, they had to do anything to win. If Creed wanted to make it home, he was going to have to do things he would regret, things that would leave memories like scars. In the Hunger Games, it was kill or be killed, and Creed didn't want to die.

**

* * *

I can't believe this fic has over 100 reviews already! You guys are so awesome! I'm so so grateful for every single review I receive, even if I don't reply personally. So yeah, thanks so much, keep it up :)**

**I hope this chapter was okay, I'm still not sure if I like it or not. But I'm beginning to get back into the swing of writing after my exams, so the next few should be better.**

**Also, I'm still trying to decide the general direction I want this fic to go. In my original plans it was lighter than my last fic, but now it looks set to be so much darker. So for the next few updates I'll be asking for your opinion on things that will shape the story.**

**First of all – What's your opinion on romance? There will be at least one romantic subplot in this fic, but there could be more. I assure you, no character will be demoted to love interest, but will still have their own plot and character arc alongside the subplot.**


	9. Brains and Brawn

**Cloud Rivera – District Five**

Cloud couldn't concentrate on the folder in front of him. Inside it was pages and pages of guides to medical and edible plants, information that could quite possibly save his life, but he just couldn't focus. He'd try to read a paragraph but his eyes would drift away after a few sentences. The words stopped sounding like words any more. It was all so dull. He flipped over the page, leaving the page before it unread and unlearnt. The next page was no better. Just pictures of identical mushrooms, some coded red for poison and some blue for edible. How was he expected to learn all of that? He couldn't spot any differences between the mushrooms unless he looked really hard, and even then there was no way he could store it to his memory.

He sighed and sat back, away from the book. He was wasting time at the plants station. He needed to find something he could focus on, something he could actually learn. Turning away from the folder, his gaze scanned the room. The hand to hand combat station drew his attention, but he wouldn't learn anything new there. School PE lessons had taught him basic wrestling and martial arts – he didn't need to learn it again. Learning a weapon would help, he guessed. The sword station which had been so busy at the start of the day now only contained two people. The boy from One was sparring – and winning – against the trainer, and the girl from Nine was cautiously examining the blades on display.

Cloud's heart sank as he looked at her. She was so small, half the size of the Career boy. Just thirteen, and she was going to be made to fight for her life. Chances are she was going to die. How could the Capitol let that happen? How could they send a child to their death without batting an eyelid? Cloud's mind dashed back to the siblings he'd left behind in District Five, the siblings he was more of a father to than a brother. They weren't old enough to be reaped yet, but in only one year Hail would be eligible for the reaping. The Capitol could damn him to the same fate that they've bestowed upon the Nine girl, and Cloud wouldn't be able to stop them.

Somehow, he felt like he had to protect that girl. He was seventeen, close to an adult. That girl was still a child. She was the youngest out of them all, but no one had tried to help her. Everyone was only training for themselves. Someone had to show a scrap of humanity, take her under their wing and protect her from harm. If they didn't, she was going to die. Cloud knew how to handle children, he was good with them. If anyone could look out for the little ones, it was him.

Sighing, he closed the plant book. Hopefully she'd be able to remember stuff like that. Purposefully he strode across the training hall. He was an adult now; it wasn't time for him to show any weakness. He had to make that poor, frightened girl trust him, make her realise that he wasn't going to turn on her.

When he reached the station, the girl had chosen a sword. It was one of the shorter ones, with a light handle and thin blade. She held it up to the light, twisting it so the sun reflected on the blade as she examined it closely. Carefully, she tested the edge with her finger.

"That's probably not a great idea," Cloud said, running the last few steps to reach her before she hurt herself.

She gave him a sideways glance through dark blue eyes that weren't as wide or innocent as he'd expected. "It's blunt," she said. "They wouldn't give us sharpened swords."

"Ah. Oh, I see," Cloud said.

The girl tested the sword with a quick swing, then looked up at Cloud. "Why are you staring at me?"

"I... I just thought..."

"Thought what?"

"Would you like to be allies?"

The girl raised an eyebrow. "What? Why? Who the hell are you anyway?"

"Well, you just seemed so small and helpless. I thought you might need someone to protect you."

"Helpless?" the girl snapped. "I do not need protection, especially not from you. Whoever you are."

"Cloud Rivera."

"I don't care. But how dare you presume that just because I'm the youngest I'm the weakest!"

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." Cloud sighed. "Look, I just thought it was really unfair that people your age should be here, that's all."

"Teaming up with me's not going to fix that," she said. "And I brought this on myself – it's my fault I'm here."

"It's no one's fault but the Capitol's."

"If you knew anything about me then you'd know that it's no coincidence that I'm here." She looked away from him. "No one should be here, Cloud. These games are foul, they're a disgrace, but there's no escaping them now. So I appreciate your concern, but I'm better off by myself."

"Right, well, good luck I guess."

"Yeah, you too."

With that, she left, sword in hand, towards the training dummies. Cloud stood by the swords – weapons that he had no idea how to use. His fingers drummed against the surface of the table, and he suddenly felt very alone. On the other side of the station, the girl attacked one of the dummies. Her attacks were graceful and precise, and the dummy looked more like a dance partner than an opponent. She glanced back over at him and frowned. He looked away, not wanting to seem like he was spying on her.

"You all right?" a feminine voice said from behind him.

Cloud jumped and spun around. The girl on the other side of the table laughed, a pleasant smile spreading over her lips. Her face was framed by gentle fair waves, held away from her large grey eyes by three brightly coloured hair clips. She was short and scrawny, just as short as the girl from Nine, if not shorter.

"Yeah, I think so," Cloud said.

"Nervous? We all are," the girl said, gently poking the handle of one of the swords.

"Nervous? Me?" Cloud said, and the girl smiled. "Well, terrified would probably be more accurate."

"You've just got to forget about it. All of the killing and the dying..."

"And the blood. Don't forget the blood."

"Yep, that as well. All of that, just forget about it. It's still _ages_ away, and we've got all of this time in training first."

"It's not much time, really."

"Yeah, but we've got to pretend it is.'Cause, who knows? Could be the last couple of days of our lives, definitely will be for at least one of us."

"You're doing a great job of making me less nervous."

"Just make the most out of these few days, that's what I'm trying," she said. "Nothing I do now will have any long-term effects, so I might as well do it."

"Interesting world view you've got there."

She grinned. "Forget the future, now's all we have." She held out her hand across the table. "Clair Tomison, District Three."

Cloud took her hand. "Cloud Rivera, District Five." A curt handshake, and Clair smiled back at him.

Her eyes narrowed slightly to focus on his. "Did they do that to you for the chariots?" She tilted her head to one side.

"Do what?" Cloud pulled his hand away from her.

"That thing, y'know, with your eyes." Her finger drew a vague semicircle in the air.

Cloud laughed nervously as he worked out what she was referring to. Cutting across his light blue irises were dashes of brown, like stripes on the surface of his eyes. It was one of those things that people didn't notice at first, but when they did they couldn't stop staring. Cloud actually quite liked it. It added a touch of originality to an otherwise plain appearance. "I was born like that. It's always been that way."

"I like it," Clair said chirpily. "It looks cool. I didn't think stuff like that happened naturally, I thought it was all Capitol magic. I wish I'd been born with something cool, like purple eyes or something. That would have been awesome."

"You look good as you are," Cloud said and she smiled again. How old was she anyway? Fourteen-ish? He couldn't start complimenting her – that would be weird! Though he wasn't exactly sure what he'd said had counted as a compliment. She was pretty though, and he was sure that she'd be even prettier by the time she was his age. He felt like hitting himself. It was wrong to think like that, even if it was only hypothetical! "I mean, I don't think purple eyes would suit you."

Clair grinned again. She didn't seem to stop smiling, though her smile never looked forced. It was always genuine. She nodded in the direction of the District Nine girl, who was still slicing away at a dummy. "She your ally, or are you single?"

"Single? Oh, we're not allies."

"Good good. I'm still ally-less, and I think I like you. That all right with you?"

"Sounds good to me," Cloud said.

With a beaming smile, Clair vaulted over the table, rattling the swords but not touching them. She landed neatly beside Cloud, her feet barely making a sound as they settled against the floor.

"So, can you fight?" Cloud asked, impressed.

Clair shrugged. "Don't know, don't care."

"It's one of those things that might be useful to know, seeing as you're entering into a giant fight to the death and all that."

"It can't be too hard," Clair said. "Anyway, what if they don't have the weapon I learnt with? What if I spend all of training with a sword, get really good, then there are only bows in the Cornucopia? I think I'll take my chances."

"I'm sure learning to fight can be fun," Cloud said, his eyes drifting to the swords. Some were light and small, others were huge and elaborate, like something that belonged in a fantasy novel. He really wanted to try one of those out, just to see what it was like.

"Not as fun as camouflage – it's basically face paint!"

"Seriously? Face paint over swords?"

"Seriously!"

Cloud grabbed one of the wooden sparring swords that was propped up against the sword table. With a wild flourish he pointed it towards Clair. "En garde!"

She giggled and ducked past him to take a sword for herself. She spun round to face him, a smug smile on her lips. "Bring it on."

Cloud swung his sword at her and she leapt aside, swinging her own round to hit him. He managed to get his blade in the way to parry it and the two wooden swords collided with a thunk. Clair attacked again, and he was barely able to dodge. Laughing, the two continued their play fight, mostly aiming for the blades rather than each other. On the few times they actually managed a hit, they slowed down their sword so it only lightly tapped the other. Cloud couldn't call it training, but he could call it fun.

Only when the Gamemakers called them for lunch did they stop.

**

* * *

Ethine Holtz – District Five**

Like most of the tributes, Ethine chose to sit at an empty table for lunch. She'd looked for her district partner, who seemed nice enough, but he was sitting with a blonde girl, laughing and joking. Other than them and the Careers, there was only one other alliance – two boys from the lower districts. The two from Six were sat together awkwardly with not a word passing between them, and Ethine doubted that they had actually teamed up.

She stared at her food. It looked delicious, like every meal she had eaten since her arrival in the Capitol, but she didn't feel like eating. She'd spent a morning learning how to kill people – that was enough to put anyone off of their food. With a sigh she looked around the room. A few tributes were still getting food but most were settled at a table, glumly eating. Some of the younger ones looked on the brink of tears. Cloud and his ally's loud conversation and laughter seemed so out of place.

Ethine picked experimentally at her food, but had to force herself to swallow it. It felt so wrong to be fed this luxury by their murderers. She laid her fork down on the edge of her plate, leaving most of the food untouched. Her hand dug deep into her pocket to find the one thing that could take her mind off of the games. It was her token - a Rubik's cube from Old Panem, the coloured stickers faded and peeling at the edges. She'd had it since she was five, and she could solve it in less than a minute by the age of ten. Though it required little to no thought any more, it was still a distraction. She shuffled it and quickly began to solve it, following the patterns that were imprinted onto her mind. It spun in her hands, the lines of colour turning fluidly without hesitation. With the thoughts of the games still rattling around her mind, it took her longer than usual to solve it. A minute had already passed by the time she completed the top side. She heard someone cough, pulling her away from the cube. Looking up, she saw a boy standing opposite her.

He was muscular, though not to the extent that the Careers were, and was fairly short compared to the other older boys. Despite his build, there was nothing threatening about him. His blue eyes were good-natured and his hair stood up all over the place like he'd just been electrocuted. It was the same red as Ethine's hair.

"Can I sit here?" he asked with a smile.

Though there was nothing to be scared of, Ethine froze, mid-twist of the Rubik's cube. She'd never been great with social situations. She could never tell how people would react to what she said, or when she needed to talk, or when she needed to shut up. People were far too complicated, reacting to every little thing – her words, her tone, her expression, her gestures. Socialising came so easily to some; Ethine couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous. For her, it seemed like there was just so much to keep track of, both in herself and the other person, that it made her feel rather self-conscious and awkward. She did try though, try to be normal. Talking to someone she knew was getting easier for her, but a stranger, especially one that might want to kill her, still filled her with dread.

He raised an eyebrow. She was taking too long to reply. Making a quick decision, she nodded sharply. He smiled at her, his eyes almost closing, as he sat down. She stared down at the Rubik's cube, forcing her hands to fall back into the patterns. The cube was nice and predictable; she always knew which colour was where. People weren't. If people were Rubik's cubes, their stickers would change colour every second.

"What's that?" the boy asked and she looked up.

"It's a Rubik's cube," Ethine said quickly. "It's a relic from Old Panem." Her eyes returned to the cube and she continued to solve it as she spoke. "You've got to try to match up all the colours, so that all of the same ones are on one side." She briefly held up the completed green side before returning to twisting it.

"What does it do?"

Ethine gave a snort of laughter. "It doesn't _do_ anything. It's for fun – a game, a puzzle, a challenge."

"Can I have a go?"

She looked up into his wide blue eyes, trying her best to read him. He seemed genuine, but lots of people did. She'd leant the cube to people before and then had to chase them all around her school to get it back. But she couldn't catch a glimpse of cruelty in the boy's eyes. Warily, she handed it over to him.

"Be careful, it's very old," Ethine said, watching as the boy made a few experimental twists. In the wrong direction. People always did that – they just turned it wildly at random, hoping it would all fall into place. Not once did they stop and consider that there were patterns. After a few minutes, the cube was always handed back to her, muddled and confused. "It's complicated at first," she said, offering advice in an attempt to be friendly, "but once you've figured out the basic algorithms then it's really quite simple."

The boy nodded, but carried on exactly as before. Ethine sighed and tried her food again, not that her appetite was back at all. When she looked up, the boy had solved a side of the Rubik's cube. Impressed, she continued to watch him. Although he did it painfully slowly, she recognised the turns he was using. He'd worked out the patterns, or some of them at least. Her eyes widened as another line of colours took their place round the middle of the cube. A few minutes later, and the Rubik's cube was complete. The boy grinned at her and her mouth fell open slightly.

"Thanks," he said, passing it back to her. "You're right – it's all a matter of patterns."

Shocked, she turned the cube over in her hands. There were no signs that he'd peeled off the stickers, or that he'd taken it apart and reassembled it. He'd actually solved it, with no guidance from her.

"How on earth did you manage that?" she exclaimed.

The boy laughed. "I do a lot of work with locks and mechanisms, lots of them are pretty complicated. I've got kind of good at seeing how things fit together."

Ethine was still staring at the completed cube. "That's really impressive."

He laughed. "Thanks."

"Are you from District Three then?" Ethine asked, placing the cube on the table.

"Yep. Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself – I'm Key Kellik the Fourth. Feel free to laugh at it."

"Laugh at what?"

"My name?"

"Why? There's nothing that unusual about it."

"Well, no one else seems to share that opinion."

"It's perfectly normal. You're from a district where it's customary to name children after machines and technology. From what you said earlier you're a locksmith."

"Locksmith's son."

"Right. And it's a family name related to your trade, which I'm guessing – like the name – has been passed down through your family for at least four generations."

Key laughed again. "That's about right. Hasn't stopped people from teasing me about it."

"Really? I can think of much worse names from District Three. My father knows a technician from there called Hardryve, which is a rather unfortunate name."

"You could say that. How does your dad know someone from Three? I thought there were very few links between districts."

"He's a scientist, working in both District Five and the Capitol," Ethine said. "Hardryve is the lab's IT technician. There are only links between professionals in districts."

Key nodded. "Sounds interesting. Are you going to be a scientist then, or is it not a family profession?"

"It's not passed down, but yes, I would like to be a scientist." Ethine suddenly felt very hollow, realising she was speculating about a future that she might never have a chance to live. Her future might end in three days. "If I survive for long enough of course."

"Obviously," Key said. "I'm sure you stand a chance though, what with all of your science knowledge. It could come in useful."

"The arena is the one place where my intelligence means nothing," Ethine said quietly. "I might be an expert at chemistry, I might be able to solve equations quicker than a calculator, but how will that help me when I'm up against a six foot brute with a sword?"

"It could mean more than you know. You could outsmart him, for one thing. You could even make weapons, if you had the right chemicals. You could make poisons and all kinds of things."

Strangely, Ethine had never thought about that. She'd always wanted to become a scientist to help people. The thought of using everything she knew as a weapon, making poisons rather than medicines, slightly scared her. But, at the same time, it filled her with a newfound confidence. When she looked at it that way, there was a huge reservoir of untapped knowledge inside of her, knowledge of destruction. She didn't want to use it, but she knew that she might have to if she wanted to win, even if that knowledge was dangerous.

"I guess so," was all that she said. She tried another forkful of food, but still wasn't hungry. Key didn't seem to have any such problem, and was happily devouring his own meal.

"Hey, why don't we team up?" he said, and she froze again. She'd been doing well up until then – Key was surprisingly easy to talk to – but this was a question that well and truly stumped her. "I'll be the brawn and you'll be the brain." He smiled another charming smile.

"You don't need me to be the brain," Ethine said, still puzzled. "You learnt how to solve that Rubik's cube faster than I did."

"That's not the same. You know, like, science and stuff – things I don't have a clue about. You could keep us alive, and I'll protect you."

"I... I don't know." Ethine picked up the Rubik's cube, shuffling the sides that Key had solved.

"Please?"

"I can't fight at all."

"Well I can."

Ethine looked up at him again. Was he just trying to be nice or did he really think she'd make a good ally? She'd have thought that most of the other tributes would have looked better. So why had he chosen her? She kicked herself for not making her mind up sooner. She needed an ally; she'd be helpless without one. This shouldn't be a difficult decision. Her hands frantically scrabbled at the Rubik's cube although her eyes were still locked on Key.

Then she realised why it was taking her so long to decide. If she was going to win, Key was going to die. If they were allies then there was a chance she would get attached to him. But what were the chances that, realistically, she would outlive Key? It was a gamble she was going to have to make.

"Yes," she said.

Key smiled again, a smile that spread to Ethine's lips like a contagious disease. She looked away, back at the almost complete cube in her hands. The squares clicked back into place, exactly as they had when Key had solved it.

**

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Have you guessed that I'm using training as a way to introduce alliances yet? I hope you liked this chapter – I really enjoyed writing it :)**

**I've decided that eight tributes will die in the bloodbath. If you don't want your precious little character to be one of them then review! Or alternatively, review because I love reviews. Seriously, I can't explain how excited I am every time I see a review alert in my inbox!**

**Question for this chapter – As anyone who has read Games of the Damned will know, I love making characters angst about semi-philosophical moral dilemmas. I'm trying to dial that down a bit this fic, but there was one element of it that I didn't explore it GotD, and that's religion. I know that it's a sensitive subject, and I wouldn't let my own views influence the story, but I thought it would be interesting to have a couple of conversations between tributes about the meaning of life, the afterlife, good and evil and all that. So, what I want to know is – would this offend you at all? Also – if you have a character in the fic – are they religious?**


	10. Truth and Dreams

**Maggie Sunserette – District Ten**

"So, did you talk to anyone yesterday?" Maggie asked Ellis as they walked along the corridor.

"No, I was training," Ellis said, like it was obvious.

"No allies then?" Maggie said.

"I don't want any allies," Ellis said. "I'd just hurt them."

"Well, that's a very grim way of looking at it," Maggie said. Ellis said nothing, so she carried on talking to fill the silence. "I, on the other hand, seem to have found myself an ally."

"Right."

"Ambie Halls, from Eleven," Maggie said without being prompted. "She's really nice."

"Good for you."

Maggie frowned. "You could at least pretend to be happy for me, you know."

Ellis sighed. "I... I am glad you're doing okay. Sorry."

She could tell that there was something that he hadn't said, but – knowing their situation – she didn't particularly want to hear it. Instead, she just smiled. "Thanks. I hope your training's going well too."

They turned the corner into the training hall. When Maggie saw what waited for her, she just stood and stared.

"What the..."

The room barely resembled the one she had been in the day before. Half of the stations were gone, replaced by different ones. Only a few of the originals remained – just the essentials. The new stations were baffling. 'Edible plants' had been replaced by 'cooking', and next to it was 'sewing'. Like she'd sew her way to victory. Most confusing of all were 'logic puzzles' and 'foreign languages', neither of which was high on her survival list. A door on the other side of the hall was open, a sign above it declared it to lead to a swimming pool. Across another wall was 'mechanics and clockwork', 'explosives' and 'computer programming'. The station that drew her attention was the largest one – 'muttations'. It was a wall of cages containing animals big and small, from tiny insects to a wolf. Or at least, that was what they looked like. Maggie had seen the games before; she knew that none of those animals were natural. Unlike normal creatures that would yap and scratch at their cages, the mutts were still and silent behind their bars, like soldiers waiting for commands.

"Why have they changed it?" Ellis said, his voice surprising Maggie.

"To prepare us for the arena better?" Maggie suggested. "Maybe they've ditched the killing thing entirely and have made it into a cross-stitch and cake baking competition?"

Ellis laughed hollowly. "Anyway, I'll see you later." He began to walk away, then added "Good luck."

Maggie smiled. "You too."

Once he'd gone, Maggie's gaze searched the room for Ambie. She'd met the other girl late in the afternoon the day before, when they were both at the climbing station. Maggie had been useless at anything other than the easiest of climbing walls while Ambie had shot up the most difficult like it was second nature, which it probably was to her – being from Eleven and all. Ambie had helped Maggie, though she still wasn't a very good climber by the end of the day.

Ambie was by the mutt station, her distinctive dark brown curls falling to her waist. Maggie grinned when she saw her – she had an excuse to spend some time at the mutts now. Even if they weren't real animals, they still looked like them. She ran across the hall to the station, and Ambie smiled up at her. Ambie was one of the few tributes other than Ellis that Maggie was taller than.

"Hey," she said.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Maggie asked.

"Plan? I hadn't thought that far ahead really..."

"I was thinking that I should learn a weapon," Maggie said, "but now they've gone and done this!"

"I wonder if they do this every games," Ambie said. "I mean, we never really see inside the training centre, do we?"

"It just seems weird to me," Maggie said. "Yesterday we had a good selection of stations, ones that could come in useful in most Hunger Games. This just seems..." She searched for a word. "Really specific."

"You think it's preparing us for the arena then?" Ambie asked. "Strange arena."

"Yeah – when have you ever seen computer programming come in useful?"

"This year, maybe?" Ambie suggested.

"I guess," Maggie said. "Anyway, you feel like learning some programming?"

Ambie laughed. "I've never even touched a computer before – I'd be useless at programming one! I think I'll go for something a bit more general."

"Should we go to the same stations or split? It'd be nice to stick together, but it would probably be useful if we learnt some different skills."

"Like you said, weapons would be useful," Ambie said. "So maybe we should try that first?"

"Go for things that work well together," Maggie said. "One of us should go ranged, the other melee."

"Melee?"

"Close combat," Maggie said. "Who's quicker? Whoever's fastest should go melee."

"I'm a good runner," Ambie said, clearly more comfortable with modesty than boasting. "Though if you'd prefer to be hand-to-hand, that's fine as well."

"Nah, I'll go ranged. I can hide quite well and be a sniper!" She grinned. "Any idea what weapon you'll go for yet?"

Ambie shook her head. Maggie looked over at the weapons stations. There were fewer than the day before, with several stations condensed into one. Bows, crossbows and slings were grouped under ranged weapons; swords, knives and axes were bladed weapons; spears, tridents and javelins were grouped as piercing weapons and maces, clubs and flails were blunt weapons.

"Go bladed," Maggie said. "You've probably got a better chance of finding one of those at the Cornucopia. And they look cooler."

"Right," Ambie said with a nod. "And you're going for..?"

"Bow, definitely," Maggie said. "I've used one before, once or twice." In District Ten, there were always predators that would attack livestock. One wolf getting into a herd of sheep could ruin a farmer's life. So kids were taught archery, as bows were less expensive than guns. Coming from the merchant part of the district, Maggie had never learnt archery herself, but one of her friends had shown her how to use a bow. She'd only fired it a few times, but she'd had pretty good aim. If she focused on her archery for a day then she'd probably be decent.

"Cool," Ambie said. "Well, see you at lunch then."

"Have fun!" Maggie said with a grin.

Ambie laughed, and headed off towards the bladed weapon station. Unlike the day before, the weapon stations were virtually deserted as tributes were attracted by the lure of the new stations. Terrana Stoner was at the ranged station though, relentlessly firing arrows into the dummies with a force that could penetrate armour. Maggie decided to wait for her to leave before trying a bow – she definitely didn't want to get in the way of a Career. Instead, she drifted towards the mutations. She wanted to get a better look at the things that would be trying to kill her.

"Are you all right?" the instructor asked.

Maggie gasped as she looked up at the instructor. Three jagged scars tore along the woman's cheek, the kind of scars that could only be caused by claws.

The woman laughed when she saw Maggie staring. "They can be nasty things, mutts – that's the entire point of them actually. Don't worry though – none of this lot could do that – they've deliberately sent the least dangerous ones that they had."

Maggie looked at the wolf. It certainly looked dangerous to her. But she had seen much more dangerous ones in the games. "What's this station actually for?" she asked.

"Muttation recognition," the instructor said. "Knowing what could kill you is an essential part of survival." The woman took one of the smaller cages down and placed it in front of Maggie. Inside were three white mice. "Two of these are normal mice. Spot the mutt."

Maggie crouched down to get a better look into the cage. The mice all looked normal to her, the only difference between the three being eye colour. Two had black eyes and one had red eyes, but that meant nothing. She'd seen white mice with both eye colours before.

"This is a bit of a mean one, I'll give you that," the instructor said.

Maggie frowned, trying to spot something different about the mice. Try as she might, they all looked the same to her. "That one," she said, pointing towards a mouse at random.

"Nope."

"Then which one?" Maggie said, annoyed.

"This little guy." The instructor flicked the cage open and reached inside, pulling one of the mice out. Maggie squinted to get a better look at the mouse.

"What does he do?" Maggie asked.

"He's a poison carrier," the instructor said. "It's the most common type of rodent mutt – a Plague Rat. Don't worry; he's harmless at the moment."

"How was I meant to see that?" Maggie snapped. "He just looks like a mouse.

The instructor gently nudged the mouse's ear forward, revealing a tiny metal panel behind it. "That's where the poison goes in," she said. She tilted the mouse's head to reveal its teeth. There was a much bigger difference there – they were black. "Its teeth are strengthened, in case it's carrying acid or something."

"But I wouldn't have spotted either of those things!"

"Don't worry, mutt identification is very difficult," the instructor said, "and the Plague Rat is particularly subtle. Other ones are much more obvious."

She returned the mouse to the cage and put the cage back. She took another cage down, this time containing a cat. The instructor was right – Maggie noticed the difference on the cat immediately. Its tail was barbed.

"If you want to stay out of the way of mutts then you're going to have to learn to look for the little details," the instructor said. "Though there's always the easier way."

"Which is?"

"Assume everything's a mutt and run. That generally works."

Maggie laughed. "Thanks." She glanced over at the now empty ranged weapons station. "I really should go now, but I might be back later."

"Good luck with your training."

Maggie nodded and headed towards the ranged weapons. The mutts station had made her really nervous. She'd been relying on the knowledge that she'd be able to hunt for food, but what if she ended up eating a mutt full of poison? If she had to live off of gifts from sponsors then she didn't fancy her chances. There was no way that they'd be able to keep her fed for the whole games. Everything in the arena was out to kill her, and she wasn't even in there yet.

She reached the station and struggled to string a bow as her mind kept wandering back to the lurking danger of the arena. Every time she managed to secure one end of the string the other would pop off again, but eventually she got it to stay in place. The instructor checked that she knew what she was doing, then she approached the target range with a quiver full of arrows.

The first arrow that she pulled back shook against her hand, and the tense string whipped against her cheek as she let it loose. Crying out, she clutched at her aching face as the arrow hit the floor and skidded to a halt some distance from the target. She saw the trainer approaching her, but she laughed off the disaster and reached for another arrow. Taking more care this time, she drew it back and closed one eye, aiming at the bull's eye. The arrow thudded into very bottom of the target, far from the mark, but it was much better than her last attempt. Encouraged, she fired again, this time aiming high above the bull's eye. The arrow entered the target much closer to the centre. If she'd been aiming at a person, that shot might not have killed them, but they would certainly have been injured.

Oh God. In the games, there wouldn't be any bull's eyes, just hearts and throats and brains. Just lives that she'd end with her arrows. The lives of the people in the room around her. Her hands shook, and her next arrow missed the target by a long way. With a weapon in her hands, the games felt much more real.

**

* * *

Rayne Lee – District 7**

Rayne set the knife down on the side. His arm ached from a morning's practice, and he didn't seem to be improving that much any more. He was sure there was something else that he could be doing, something that would give him more skills for the arena. As he looked around the new training centre, nothing drew his attention. Well, it did, but then the dull ache in his arm put him off of it. He definitely wasn't up to using another weapon, or doing anything remotely physical. Luckily, many of the new stations didn't require much exertion.

He was still puzzled by the swap-over, but was pleased at the same time. If the new stations were a hint at what the arena could contain, then he was in luck. Rayne's strengths lay in the mental more than the physical, and an arena where intelligence could lead to victory would give him an advantage. He wasn't going to let that trail of thought get to his head though. Overconfidence before even entering the arena was certainly not a good thing.

With a sigh, Rayne started towards the foreign languages station. It didn't seem like a skill that would come in particularly useful, but the Gamemakers had deemed it important enough to include in training. Of course, that could just be a red herring, but Rayne didn't really care. He was just looking for somewhere to take a break and there were some rather comfortable looking armchairs at the station. Besides, he'd always wanted to learn a bit of Latin.

The station was set up like a little library away from the rest of the room, with three tall bookcases sheltering a few chairs. It felt calm, despite the noise of the hall. Libraries had that affect. Books soothed the atmosphere around them, no matter what language was on their spine. And what an array of languages there were. Rayne recognised a few as he scanned the shelves, but some were in a completely different alphabet than he was used to. Even the ones that he could read felt strange and exotic, some with lilting vowels, others with harsh consonants. They all had one thing in common though – even if Rayne could pronounce them, he didn't understand a word of it.

On another shelf were guides on the languages, and their English titles looked out of place in the strange library. Rayne took one on Latin – the language that the majority of the other books were in – and sat down in an armchair. He flicked through the pages, trying to focus. He knew full well that he wasn't going to learn Latin in a day; he just wanted something to take his mind off of things. In the language station, he could almost manage that.

He barely noticed the other boy enter the station, only realising that there was someone else there when he looked up. The boy was in another of the armchairs, focused on the open book in his hands. It took Rayne a moment to realise who the boy was, from the angle he was looking at him from. It was Bliric – the scarred boy from Eleven. The right half of his face was softer, younger than Rayne had first thought, with the only vaguely exceptional thing about him being the pale yellow-green of his eye. The scarred mess and bleach-blond hair on his left side was so different that Rayne would never have thought that they belonged to the same person.

Aware that he was being watched, Bliric's gaze drifted towards Rayne. Rayne froze. Bliric must have been used to people staring at him, but it was still rude.

"Can you read that?" Rayne managed to say, gesturing at the book in Bliric's hands.

Bliric raised an eyebrow, and then slowly nodded. "Most of it."

"Oh, cool. I didn't know you learnt Latin in Eleven."

"It's French, and you don't," Bliric said. "I taught myself, from books at the library."

"Why not Latin?" Rayne asked. "I mean, French is almost dead."

"That's exactly why," Bliric said, closing his book. "There are no books on Latin in District Eleven. If they taught us a language that might be useful then there'd be chance we'd crawl our way out of the slums."

There was a definite bitter edge to Bliric's tone, and Rayne didn't blame him. District Seven was far from perfect, but it was close to paradise compared to what he'd seen of Eleven. He didn't see much of the other districts – the only occasions when they were shown on television were at times such as the reapings. The Capitol always tried to make the districts look more affluent than they were, but no amount of decorations could make District Eleven look any jollier than a mausoleum.

"What are you reading then?" Rayne asked.

Bliric frowned. Rayne wondered if he was going too far with his questioning, but was genuinely interested. He'd never really thought of Elevens as educated types.

"It's a story," Bliric said, with a hint of a smile. "The best ones are in foreign languages – ancient classics and tales imported from overseas. They tend to escape Capitol censorship more than our own literature."

Rayne nodded, though he'd never thought of reading foreign novels, mostly because he couldn't. He was a keen reader himself, and a frequent inhabitant of the district library, as he couldn't afford any books of his own. Books were the best way to escape from the world, and to see it from different ways. Whenever he wasn't at school or working, Rayne read.

"I don't think that any of the Gamemakers can read French," Bliric said, turning the book over and skimming the blurb. "This station wouldn't have been created if they did."

"Really?" Rayne said, intrigued. "Why?"

Bliric smiled, though it was lopsided from the scarring. "This book," he said softly. "It speaks of revolution."

Rayne's eyes widened. Revolution was not a word that was thrown about lightly, especially not under the eyes of Peacekeepers and Gamemakers. Any mention of it in the districts was hushed immediately, sometimes with the assistance of the Capitol's fists. Rayne knew that all too well. He'd always loathed the Capitol and the way that they treated the districts, and the thought of rebellion had crossed his mind before. When his sister was reaped, he'd been close to trying. He'd only been young at the time, but he'd never been stupid. The moment Mika's name had been drawn had been the moment that his anger at the Capitol ignited into sheer hatred. And although his thoughts of revolution had been quenched, the fire of his hate was still burning strong.

"Revolution?" Rayne lowered his voice to a hushed whisper.

Bliric nodded. "Hundreds of years ago, the French people rose up against their rulers. It worked, too."

"So it can be done," Rayne said.

"If the people realise how badly they're treated, and they join together, it can work."

"The difficulty would be coordinating the districts," Rayne said.

He glanced up and met the eyes of a Gamemaker across the room. The woman was far enough away to have not heard what he said, but it was still a reminder to him that he was being watched. They could even have had microphones on him at that moment and he wouldn't know. But did it matter, really? No matter what he said, he was going to die in the next week or so. He could stand up right now and declare his hatred for the Capitol. Or he could do it in his interview – televised across the country – and rally the districts for rebellion. Whatever punishment they could bestow upon him couldn't be worse than the death sentence he already had.

But he wouldn't speak out, not now at least. Like the rest of the tributes, Rayne had fooled himself into thinking he had a chance. Unlike them, he knew it was just wishful thinking, but that didn't stop him from clinging onto that glimpse of hope. If he refused to play the Capitol's game then there would be no way that they'd let him win it. They'd make sure that his only way out was in a coffin.

He settled back into his armchair, opening the book on Latin again, but he found it even more difficult to focus. The mechanism of his mind was whirring, powered by dreams of freedom and revolution. He looked over at Bliric, who was reading again. The boy seemed less tense that he had done before, probably thankful that Rayne hadn't mentioned the scar. Rayne could see past the scar now. Despite his appearance, Bliric was as scared as the rest of them.

"You're from Seven, right?" Bliric said.

"Yeah, I'm Rayne."

"I thought so," Bliric said. "You don't exactly look like a lumberjack though."

Rayne gave a slight laugh. "I'm not – no one would trust me with an axe, and for good reason too. I work in one of the paper mills at the weekends."

"Sounds fun."

"It's incredibly dull, but less dangerous than working with lumber. It pays okay, and that's all that matters really." He sighed. "All that matter_ed_, now, I guess. Being able to use an axe would probably have come in useful."

He'd seen his district partner – Raylene, the girl with hair like fire – at the axe station the day before. It came so naturally to her, she must have worked at the lumber yard for at least a few years. Most kids did, leaving school at fifteen. They didn't see the point in reading and mathematics if all they were going to do was swing an axe. Rayne didn't want to settle for that though, and education was the only way out of manual work.

"It's a bit of an unfair advantage, to be honest, knowing how to use a weapon," Bliric said. "We don't have a chance in Eleven. Well, there are scythes, but they're for the over eighteens only."

"Do you work then?"

"Everyone works. Some kids never even go to school. I'm still in education, but I have to work to afford it."

"There are probably kids in the Capitol who will never work at all," Rayne said, the last conversation rising in his mind again.

"It's wrong," Bliric said. "I don't know how anyone can't see that."

Silence fell again, but it wasn't an awkward silence. It was a silence full of thought even if there weren't words. Though neither of them had blatantly said it, both boys knew that the other wanted revolution. Rayne would never have thought it when he first saw Bliric. He didn't know what he thought when he first saw Bliric, but he certainly never thought he was looking at an educated revolutionary.

"It's our last chance," Bliric said.

"It's too late," Rayne said. "It would never work."

"We don't need to overthrow the Capitol. We just need to show them that we're not their slaves."

"No matter how honourable our intentions are, we'll forget them as soon as we're in the arena."

"We're stronger than that, stronger than they think we are."

Rayne shrugged. "Arena revolts never work."

But they had done, once. Ages ago, before Rayne was born, two Twelve kids had managed to get out of the arena. They'd stuck up to the Capitol, and they'd won. Not for long though. The girl was killed on the victory tour, shot in the head, supposedly by a grieving father of a boy she'd killed. Rayne doubted that that was the truth though. He'd seen the clip several times on news reports. The girl crumpled and fell, her body rolling off the front of the stage, leaving a trail of blood on the floor and on the horrified boy. Then the camera swung round to the crowd. Rayne had never been able to see anyone with a gun other than the Peacekeepers.

A few years later, two kids tried the same trick again. Exactly the same, with the same poison berries and everything. That time, the Capitol let them swallow. Horrified realisation dawned on them, but it was too late. The final shot of the games was their corpses twitching on the ground. There was no victor that year.

The Capitol doesn't need victors. The districts do. They need that little bit of hope.

It's amazing how just a speck of light can banish darkness.

**

* * *

Sorry about the late update – last week turned out to be much busier than I'd expected. I'll get back to the quicker speed of updates though. Only three chapters left before the games!**

**This is another chapter I'm in two minds about. I'm not pleased with Maggie's POV – too much happened in it and too quickly, and I'm not sure about Rayne's POV. I don't know if the vague revolution plot will go anywhere, but we'll see :) I know neither of the characters mentioned revolution in their profiles, but they both seemed to be bitter enough to support it.**

**Also, I've decided that Latin is a modern language, spoken somewhere else in the world. I do have a vague history of my Panem worked out, but it's long, complicated and doesn't make much sense. It won't affect the story at all though.**

**As always – please review!**

**Update Question: Revolution subplot?**


	11. Skill and Chance

**Christina Ann Robins – District Nine**

Robin sat in the corner of the dining room, as far from the remaining tributes as she could manage. She didn't hate them. In fact, part of her wanted to talk to them, find a friend like so many of the others had done. But if she let that happen then she'd start seeing them as people, and she didn't want that. If she let herself see their fear, their smiles, their tears, she wouldn't be able to bear the fact that they all had to die. It was better that they remained the way they were, little more than mutts to her. Luckily, it hadn't been that difficult to keep away from them during training. They could tell that she didn't want to be spoken to so most of them had left her alone. Except for that stupid boy from Five – the one with the weird eyes. His name had been ridiculous as well – Cloud.

She tried to forget that. He wasn't Cloud, he was Five. Just another one of the faceless, soulless tributes that would become her enemies. She'd been glad when he'd been called in for his private session. After the girl from Three had left he'd kept glancing at Robin, as if considering talking to her again. Thankfully, none of the other tributes seemed to be having similar ideas.

The girl from Eight had just been called in, leaving just the eight of them in the dining room. The girls from Ten and Eleven were sat together, chatting quietly. The boys from their districts were both silent, sat at the edge of the room. The two from Twelve were sat together, though not talking. Robin hadn't seen them together before, so assumed that they were sat together only because of district loyalty rather than any alliance.

Her own district partner was pacing nervously. He had good reason to – he was going in to see to Gamemakers next. Even so, the sound of his shoes on the wooden floorboards annoyed Robin. It was better than when there had been a lot of alliances in the hall, but the sound stood out much clearer when there was no other noise for it to compete with.

"Ade Wysor, District Nine," a Gamemaker called from the doorway.

Ade stopped his pacing, fear flashed in his eyes, but he just nodded and followed the Gamemaker through to the next room. Robin sighed and closed her eyes, relieved that the noise had gone. Panic slowly rose inside her. Now Ade was gone, she was next. She didn't know what to do. There was no way that she was going to be able to show off all of her talents, so she just had to pick one or two to perform. She'd been warned by her mentor to make her display flashy, otherwise they'd just forget her. Flashy wasn't something Robin did well, she'd always been better at blending into the background.

Still, she had to make her mind up quickly. No matter how skilled she was, if she stood around for five minutes working out what to do then she wouldn't leave a good impression on the Gamemakers.

Lost in thought, she didn't notice the time pass before the Gamemaker came in and called her name. The voice pulled her away from her decision and she rose to her feet. Well, she still hadn't made a choice – she was going to have to play it by ear.

She followed the Gamemaker through to the hall, where avoxes were replacing some broken dummies. Before they took the old ones out of the room, Robin caught a glimpse of arrows and darts piercing the dummies' skin. So Ade had chosen ranged weapons? She certainly wouldn't, she didn't want to bore the Gamemakers with the same routine they'd just seen. Besides, ranged had never been her strength.

The Gamemaker that had led her in took a seat with the rest of them – ten in total. A packed buffet table sat behind them, and Robin could already tell that the food was more welcome than she was. Her mentor was right – she was going to have to be flashy. A large climbing frame, folded into the wall, caught her attention. That would certainly be a good way to show off, even if it didn't showcase everything that she was capable of.

She bowed neatly and the Head Gamemaker nodded, a signal for her to start. More nervous than she'd have thought, Robin walked over to the climbing frame. It was huge, stretching to the ceiling, split into three hinged pieces that swung from the wall. The pieces were currently tied into place. Robin struggled with the knots that held it to the wall and heard a Gamemaker cough behind her. This wasn't exciting! The rope finally let go of the frame. There was a complicated series of bars that would secure it while she was on it, but she'd wasted enough time. Surely it would be more impressive if she climbed it while it wasn't stable?

Taking a deep breath, she backed away from the frame, earning a few raised eyebrows from the Gamemakers. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her breathing was shallow. It was hard to ignore the pressure that their eyes placed on her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath to steady herself, then her eyes snapped open and she ran. Her sprint didn't stop when she reached the wall. Using her momentum, her feet hit the wall and she ran up it, just a few steps to reach the frame. Feeling herself slipping, she jumped up and grabbed hold of a cold bar. She clung to the frame as it swung away from the wall, unfolding like a wing into position.

A quick glance told her that she'd got the Gamemakers' attention. Now she just had to keep it. As a ladder slid down from the frame to the floor, she began to climb. She barely had to think as she reached from bar to bar, gracefully ascending the frame. After spending so much time in trees, Robin felt just as safe in the air as she did on the ground. But climbing was easy for her, she thought as she looked down at the Gamemakers. They'd begun to talk amongst themselves and pick at their food. There were probably other tributes who could do what she was doing, they'd seen it all before. She needed to wow them.

Turning away from the Gamemakers, her eyes quickly scanned the frame. The other section of the frame, which swung away from hers at a right angle, was more complex. Just about level with her were three long ropes, connecting two of the bars together. They were fastened by chains at the top, but only tied onto the bar at the bottom.

Calmly, Robin leapt from her bar towards the nearest rope. Like a bird in flight, she soared above the hall, barely losing any height. She reached the rope and grabbed it, bringing herself to an abrupt halt that was a little less graceful than she'd have liked. Resisting the urge to look back at the Gamemakers to gauge their reaction, she jumped to the next rope, then the next, until she was next to the wall. She dropped from the rope, putting down a hand to steady herself as she landed lightly on the beam. As quickly as she could, she untied the knot holding the rope in place. Murmurs from the Gamemakers drifted towards her, but she couldn't make out words. She didn't try to. A drop in her concentration at that height could be fatal. The thought didn't scare her, but it was something that she had to keep in mind.

The knot came loose and Robin checked that her grip on the rope was secure as she rose to her feet again. Rope in one hand, she jumped off of the frame. She swung towards the wall and her feet collided with it. She ran again, her soles racing against the wood-panelled wall. Though she was gaining height, she felt her momentum falling. It was now or never.

Letting go of the rope, she jumped. The rope fell away, returning to its original position and for a moment she was suspended against the wall. Her world seemed to slow down as she pushed away into the empty air. Not looking at the floor that was further away than ever, she held her arms out in front of her, reaching for the other half of the frame. Teeth gritted, she sailed through the air, gradually falling. For a moment she thought she wouldn't make it, thought that she'd plunge to certain death, but then her fingertips reached the cold metal of the frame. Her hands grasped the bar and she swung herself up, standing up on the top of the frame, despite wanting to catch her breath.

Finally, she let herself look down at the Gamemakers. The shocked expressions on their faces made her smile. It had been risky, but seemed to have paid off. Now she just needed as dramatic a way to get down. She cartwheeled along the bar, her feet almost touching the ceiling, as she tried to work out what to do. It was a good fifteen metres to the ground – just jumping down was not an option. But even that was a better choice than a slow descent.

Robin strolled along the beam as easily as she would on the ground, turning the corner onto the other half of the frame. The higher she was on the frame, the more violently it shook with her steps, and she was beginning to regret not securing it when she had the chance. After a quick glance at the floor below she closed her eyes and took a step forward. Into nothing. A Gamemaker gasped as she plummeted – now a falling stone rather than a bird. The air whipped against her, pulling her hair above her head and drawing sharp tears from her eyes. Praying that she'd timed her fall right, she reached behind her. Her hand found the rope and she grabbed hold of it, wincing as the sudden stop jerked her arm from its socket.

The rest of the climb was easy, she skipped down the rest of the frame. It took her less than a minute to jump from bar to bar, until finally the floor met her feet. She'd never been more thankful to feel it there.

"Thank you," she said to the slightly stunned Gamemakers.

With a polite bow, she left the room, rubbing her aching shoulder. She'd been reckless, far too reckless. It was only luck that had saved her from a serious injury. She'd barely shown what she was capable of as well. Climbing was not her only skill – her main focus was the sword – but the Gamemakers wouldn't see that until the games began. She'd got carried away. She could have died before the games even started.

Maybe it would have been easier that way. The Gamemakers would have been powerless to stop her if she hadn't grabbed the rope. The ground that would have met her would have been a lot less comforting than the one that she had landed on. But it could have been a preferable death than whatever the games had in store for her. It would have been so easy for any of the tributes to die early, to save themselves the only way that they could. Robin wouldn't have. Even if she didn't think she stood a chance at winning, she wouldn't have given up that easily. Suicide was only selfish.

The second that Robin died, her sister would be forced to do the same.

**

* * *

Helena Troy – District 12**

"Are you all right?" Jack asked, and Helena looked up.

It was the first thing that he'd said to her all day. Although he'd sat by her after his ally left, he'd been silent, anxiously tying his fingers into knots. Now that it was just the two of them in the dining room, his soft voice cut through the silence.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she said. "You?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not sure what to expect, to be honest."

"It doesn't matter what we do," Helena said. "The Gamemakers have been watching kids showing off all day, I bet they're bored out of their minds by now. They'll just want to go home."

Jack laughed. "Fair point. We've got to put a bit of effort in though."

"What are you going to do then?"

"Probably show them what I can do with a knife," Jack said. "There isn't much more to me than that. What about you?"

"That's what I'm trying to work out," Helena said.

"Well, what can you do?"

"I can run quite fast, but that's not exactly going to get me many marks, is it?"

"What did you spend all of training doing then?"

"I just flitted between stations, really. I spent far too long at the camouflage station, and I'm still useless at it. Turns out I have the artistic ability of a colour-blind weasel."

Jack laughed again. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Helena smiled. "Believe me, it was. I'm okay at knives and I can kind of shoot a bow though."

"That's a start."

"Yeah, but I can't exactly go for knives after you, can I? I'm only semi-decent with them, while you're a freaking expert."

"Helena, I've only learnt to fight because I had to. You're lucky."

She paused, looking him up and down. She didn't know Jack – she'd never heard of him before he was reaped – but he didn't look too bad off. His hair was merchant blond, and he wasn't that thin by District Twelve standards. There was nothing about him that suggested a bad life. But he'd dropped hints in the few conversations that they'd had. Despite his optimism, it seemed his childhood had been pretty rough. She hadn't had a great life, but there was always food on the table and money in her pocket – only a little, but that didn't matter. It wasn't the kind of life where she'd had to learn to fight, to kill, in order to survive. She couldn't imagine what had happened to Jack.

It was strange, how the games forced people together, then tore them apart. If it wasn't for the games, then she probably would never have known Jack existed. They would have lived in the same district, been to the same places, maybe even passed each other in the street, but never have known each others' names or even acknowledged each other. Now, he was the only reminder of home that she had, other than her lucky ring. She didn't know how anyone could kill their district partner. They might not be allies, but there was still something that tied them together. She couldn't help but feel a bit of loyalty to Jack.

Jack was very easy to talk to, even for her. She didn't know why, but she just found it much easier to chat with him than any of the other tributes. Not that she'd tried particularly hard to talk to any of the others. But Jack was very likeable, and she certainly didn't mind spending a little time with him. She'd been considering asking him to be her ally, but he came back after the first day talking about an alliance. Though she could have handled one ally, she didn't fancy dealing with two, especially with one being even more of a stranger than Jack. So she hadn't asked, and was going to face the games alone, just like she'd originally planned.

"How about archery then?" Jack suggested. "If you're okay at that then there's no reason why you shouldn't do it."

"I don't know... I fired a bow for the first time two days ago. I might think I'm okay, but I'm probably useless compared to the tributes that have been training all of their lives."

"You don't know that! It's clear that you've got at least a bit of natural talent. You might as well show that off."

"Show what off? I'll miss."

"I bet it's still better than what a lot of people could manage," Jack said. "Just try not to get too scared about it."

"Of course I'm not scared," Helena snapped. "I'm just... I don't know how I feel."

"Well, I'm sure it'll go well, or at least better than you're expecting."

"I'm not so certain."

Jack smiled, and was about to speak again when a Gamemakers voice cut across the room. "Tiresius Blane, District Twelve."

Helena had almost forgotten that Jack wasn't his real name. It was strange to see him react to 'Tiresius' – the name didn't suit him at all. He stood up and nodded at her.

"Good luck," he said.

"Thanks."

He turned and headed away from the table, and Helena kicked herself. How could she have been so selfish to not wish him well? He was under as much pressure as she was, even if he didn't show it. She stood up clumsily, pushing her chair back.

"Jack!" she called out to him and he looked back over his shoulder."Good luck!"

He grinned at her, then disappeared through the doorway. The Gamemaker followed him and the door closed , leaving Helena alone in a dining hall that felt much bigger without Jack. Silence surrounded her as she stared at the table and twisted her ring round her finger. The seconds dragged by as she waited for the Gamemaker to return with her name. Though she wanted to get it over and done with, she'd have liked it if the minutes were hours. Not just because she was dreading her session with the Gamemakers, but because a step through that door was one step closer to the games. After that, it was just the interviews, and then the next thing she knew she'd be on her little platform, counting down the seconds at the Cornucopia.

Did she actually stand a chance? She wasn't sure. She could name a good few tributes that she was sure she was better than, but even more that were better than her. It all depended on the arena. If it was all exposed and open, then she was done for. If it was somewhere with plenty of hiding places where stealth would come in handy, then it was a different story. That was if she got past the Cornucopia of course. She was quick enough that she should have been able to get away, but there were always surprise deaths at the bloodbaths. She wouldn't have been surprised if a shiny looking weapon caught her eye and she risked her life to get it. In her mind she could see the scene vividly – the Careers killing her in gruesome ways without a hint of remorse. There was another scene in her head – the one where she grabbed the bow and sent an arrow into each of their skulls – but she knew that that was just wishful thinking. She knew the difference between fantasy and reality by now. In District Twelve there was no time for fantasy, but it was also all that kept the people living. Strange old world.

"Helena Troy, District Twelve."

She looked up at the sound of her name. The Gamemaker was back, standing in front of the open door like a guide to another world. Solemnly, Helena followed them through to the hall, shaking slightly.

The Gamemakers weren't watching her. They weren't the panel of vultures that she'd been expecting, but more like a group of distracted children chatting and eating. Only the Head Gamemaker acknowledged her with a slight wave, a signal to get on with it. Helena understood that she was the last one that they had to watch, and they were tired, but she couldn't help but feel angry. These were the people sentencing her to death, her murderers, and they didn't even have the dignity to look her in the eye. She sighed and unfolded her hands, which had curled into fists. At least they might not scrutinise her so much, maybe they'd go easy on her. She doubted it though. They probably had their scores for her decided already, just from the knowledge that she was from Twelve.

She walked over to the firing range, extremely conscious of the sound of her own footsteps, and picked up a bow. She strung it quickly and easily, checking that she had the right amount of tension in the string. Focused on the target, she picked up an arrow and drew it back. Her shaking hands made it difficult to aim, and she lowered the bow again. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and aimed again. This time, she fired. The bowstring flicked past her face and the arrow shot forward, landing in the target with a satisfying thud. Not quite a bull's eye, but pretty close. She fired five more arrows, aiming carefully with each one, and they all embedded themselves in the target. Two found their way to the bull's eye, but none were far off. Pleased with herself, Helena decided to try something harder. She swung her bow around and aimed at the moving target. The arrow she released couldn't have been further from the bull's eye. Swearing under her breath, she tried again, and again, but the target danced out of the way. Her hands were shaking again. She'd ruined her good start.

Without hesitation, she spun round and fired at one of the dummies. By chance more than skill, the arrow hit its head and knocked it backwards. That was a slightly better finale than the moving target. She slid the string off of the bow and returned the weapon to its place. She turned to face the Gamemakers, who were paying no more attention than when she'd gone in.

"Thank you," she said in a quiet voice that threatened to break.

She turned on her heel and left the room, running a hand through her black hair and fighting back tears. That had been a disaster, a total disaster. She could have done better, but she was quite pleased with her performance. What she'd hated had been the Gamemakers, so blinded with arrogance and importance that they hadn't even noticed her there. She didn't know what score she'd get, they'd probably just pull a random number from thin air. It didn't matter to them. In their minds, she was already dead.

**

* * *

Training Scores**

Tyler Heart – 10  
Katarzyna Klementyna – 10  
Kaleb Endrich – 8  
Terrana Stoner – 11  
Key Kellik – 7  
Clair Tomison – 5  
Rufus Malus – 11  
Valkyrie Pyre – 7  
Cloud Rivera – 5  
Ethine Holtz – 3  
Damien Snowe – 8  
Serene Asire – 6  
Rayne Lee – 6  
Raylene Mycar – 7  
Creedence Clifton – 6  
Sable Zinith – 4  
Ade Wysor – 7  
Christina Robins – 9  
Ellis Bathsheba – 5  
Maggie Sunserette – 4  
Bliric Hozzay – 3  
Ambrossia Halls – 5  
Tiresius Bane – 6  
Helena Troy – 5

**

* * *

These scores are not a way for you to work out who's going to die first. Though some weaker tributes will die, and some stronger tributes will survive, it's going to be a **_**very**_** different arena than usual, requiring a different set of skills. Sorry if you're tribute scored low :(**

**Anyway, I'm actually pretty pleased with this chapter! It was nice writing action again. If you couldn't tell, this fic will be just as over the top with the action as my last fic was. It will be darker, but the fights will still be completely unrealistic and (hopefully) pretty awesome.**

**Please review! It's getting close to the bloodbath now, so I'll be making my decision on who to kill soon. If you've been reviewing, I will be much more likely to let your character live. I'll also start a popularity poll next update, once you've seen all the tributes. I won't stick completely to the results of the poll for bloodbath deaths, but that combined with reviewing will be my main way of working out who'll die. On that note...**

**Update Question: If you were me, who would you kill in the bloodbath? I know this is a mean question, but I'd like to know your guesses. This shouldn't affect the story, unless I see the same name coming up loads.**


	12. Life and Death

**Key Kellik – District Three**

Key's interview outfit was a suit, plain and simple. The tie had a circuit board pattern on it, but other than that it was completely normal. He couldn't have hoped for a better outfit. The Capitol's costumes didn't suit Key, and they seemed to have realised that after putting him in that ridiculous suit of computer parts for the chariot rides. The chariot rides had been horrible. He'd hated being paraded round in that uncomfortable monstrosity. Luckily, no one really remembered him from the chariot rides, they'd all been distracted by Clair the android beside him. Key preferred it that way. Now he had a chance to create a new first impression, and a completely respectable score of a seven to go with it.

Ethine hadn't done quite as well. She'd got the worst score out of all of them, tied with the half-blind boy. Key had never expected Ethine to do well though. Her true gift was her mind, something that the Gamemakers would fail to notice during their examination of physical skill. If he could make sure Ethine escaped the bloodbath, she'd definitely be a good ally, regardless of her score. Anyway, if he added their scores together they had a ten, and could take on a Career. He liked that logic, even if it didn't convert well to reality.

He wanted to find Ethine, but received a harsh glare from a Capitol girl with a clipboard when he tried to step out of line. The tributes were all gathered backstage, lit only by the dim lights that the stage crew used to view their notes. Though a few were whispering, most were silently waiting to be herded onto the stage. Key stood between Clair, who was bouncing up and down on her heels, and Valkyrie from Four. He'd seen Valkyrie with the Careers during training, but now she felt about as far from a Career as possible. Beneath eyes dusted with blue-green eyeshadow, her eyes glistened with tears. She fiddled with her fingers as she waited. Was she a Career at all, or just another frightened tribute? Key wanted to ask her, but before he had a chance the tributes were led onto the stage.

The contrast between the dark backstage and blinding lights that he walked into was staggering. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Key kept smiling despite how nervous he felt. Other tributes didn't react so well. Some of the younger ones did nothing to hide their anxiety, shaking as they took their seats. Clair had no such problem. She waved and grinned at the audience as enthusiastically as she had done during the chariot rides. There was nothing about her that suggested she was being sent to her death the next day.

Once all of the tributes were seated, the host strode onto stage, greeted by even more deafening applause. She flashed a grin at the audience. Astra Mirran had only hosted the interviews for the last three years, being the lucky successor to Caesar Flickerman. She didn't have a fraction of his charm. Unlike Caesar, who'd always encouraged the tributes, there was something very hostile about Astra. She was like a cat toying with a mouse as she interviewed the tributes, a wry smirk on her lips that never faded. Key was never sure if she intended to be that way, or if she was genuinely trying to be supportive and failing badly. Her appearance did nothing to contradict her personality. Her hair was jet black and razor straight, pushed away from her face by two horns that curved backwards. When she smiled, Key could make out canines filed into points. At least her eyes weren't red. Instead they were a strange pale gold, which he found just as disconcerting. Though she looked like a devil, she was dressed in a draped white dress that seemed to glow under the stage lights.

Key allowed his smile to drop a little as Astra introduced the evening. Her speech was short, with only a few vague attempts at humour that sparked a couple of laughs from the politer members of the audience. Then it was time to interview. Fangs bared into a smile, Astra spun round to face the tributes and called Katarzyna to the front of the stage. Key sighed as the lights faded on him and focused on Katarzyna. There were more cheers, applause, and a few wolf-whistles as Katarzyna strode across the stage. She sat down opposite Astra and smiled at the audience.

Katarzyna managed to hold her own in her interview, still coming across as likeable. Of course, Astra was always easier on the Careers. They were closer to Capitol. The two of them talked about Katarzyna's father, her life in District One and the games. Katarzyna's determination was clear, but was nothing compared to Terrana. Astra found a kindred spirit in Terrana, someone who reeked of ambition and malice even more than she did. After Terrana came Kaleb. Though the boy was only small, he didn't look away from Astra as she questioned him about the sister he'd left behind, mock sympathy in her tone. Kaleb didn't fall to her. He didn't flinch as she asked probing question after probing question. When he'd first seen Kaleb, Key didn't believe that he could have scored an eight. By the time that the buzzer sounded, his mind had been changed.

Kaleb returned to his seat beside Terrana, and Clair skipped to the front of the stage, a beaming smile on her face. Astra smirked when she saw the girl. Clair was one of the youngest and from a non-Career district, Astra must have thought she'd be easy to break. She was wrong. There was no risk of Clair dissolving into tears, or exposing a sob story to the world. Instead, she smiled and laughed relentlessly throughout her interview. Biting comments from Astra did nothing to throw her off, and she was ready with a witty response each time. Key never doubted Clair's relentless optimism. It was all real – life was all fun and games to her. He worried about her though. The Hunger Games weren't kind to the naive.

The buzzer rang and dread filled Key. He tried not to show it as he walked over to Astra, smiling at her as he sat down opposite her. Astra still looked a little taken aback by Clair's interview; Key hoped that she wouldn't be as harsh to him. He could take whatever she threw at him. Years of teasing had made him used to bullies.

" Key Kellik, is it?"

"Key Kellik the Fourth, to be precise."

Astra laughed. "Nice name."

"Well, I wasn't too keen on it at first, but I've grown rather fond of it now. Besides, it's nothing compared to some of the names you get in District Three."

"Right. Well, how's the Capitol been for you?"

"It's..." Key couldn't say what he wanted to say. About how much he hated the Capitol, how the whole place made him sick to his stomach. Though it hid behind a glitzy facade, the Capitol was red with the blood of murdered children. The people did nothing to acknowledge it, except apply a new coat of crimson every year. "It's nice. Very different to what I'm used to."

"So you're another district kid with a tough life?" Astra asked.

"Not particularly. We're a pretty well off family in a pretty well off district."

"Going to miss it in the games, I'd bet."

"I miss it already," Key said.

"Leaving any family behind?" Astra sounded downright bored. He hadn't given her anything to play off of, to tear her claws into, and he'd rather it stayed that way.

Key nodded. "My parents and my sisters – Silver and Copper. My father's a locksmith."

"Key the locksmith?" Astra snorted.

"Makes sense now, doesn't it? Anyway, Silver and Copper are both older than me, both too old to be reaped now. Silver's started her own business, but neither of them have moved out yet. To be honest, I kind of like having them around." He'd been trying not to think of home, because he knew he'd get the pangs of homesickness that twitched inside of him under Astra's cold gaze. He really did miss his sisters. Even if they all argued sometimes, it was just because they cared about each other.

"House full of girls then?"

"Yes." It hadn't always been. He'd had a brother once. Brass, who'd died five years ago. Those five years felt like an eternity, almost like Brass had never existed at all. Although a day wouldn't pass without Key missing his brother, it felt as if he'd never been much more than a dream. Just vague memories of a laugh, a smile, of playing games. Then there were a few snippets of vivid memories that felt real as they replayed in Key's head. But they'd fade just as he grabbed hold of one. Well, most of them did. One would be burned into his mind for all eternity. An old power plant that Brass had insisted would be safe. Exposed wires, the rain beating on the roof. A foul smell, almost like cooking meat. The body of his brother, limbs twisted and face contorted in horror.

There was no way he'd tell Astra any of that. No way. He wasn't going to expose a weakness for her to tear open.

"I love both of them though , wouldn't swap them for the world."

Astra smiled. "I bet they're glad to hear that. So, how are you going to get back to them? What are your plans for the arena? Fancy your chances?"

"I think I might just have a shot at winning. I can think of a lot of kids at home who would be much worse off."

"You aren't exactly typical for Three. Scrawny little things, the past few years."

"I'm used to working with metal, and metal is pretty heavy. I guess I had to toughen up a bit after a while. So that's a slight advantage at least."

"It got you a seven, must be something."

"There are a lot of high scores this year, it's going to be tough?"

"Any allies amongst your competition?"

Key glanced over his shoulder and met Ethine's eyes, which were wide and full of panic. He smiled a reassuring smile and looked back at Astra. "Yep – Ethine Holtz."

Astra gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Ethine? From Five? You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, she didn't exactly score well, did she?"

"Why does that matter? I know she's a genius, and that's all that matters, to me at least. I know I like her, and we get on well together. Sure, I could have teamed up with someone stronger, but I trust Ethine. Besides, us gingers have got to stick together, haven't we?" The last comment got some laughs from the audience, lightening the tone of his little rant.

"You sound pretty dedicated," Astra said, surprised at his outburst. "But maybe this alliance will be your downfall."

"I don't like the way you judge people," Key said, unable to stop himself. "Giving us these scores that determine if we'll live or die? When Ethine was given that three, it's like she's dead to you people! There are some things that can't be tested in those sessions, and pure intelligence is one of them. Believe me, she'll get further in the games than you think, I'll make sure of it."

Astra smirked – finally she had the opportunity that she'd been looking for. "Well, I look forward to you proving 'us people' wrong."

The buzzer sounded and, already regretting his interview, Key returned to his seat. As Valkyrie sat down opposite Astra, he closed his eyes and the last three minutes replayed over and over in his head. It had started off well enough. He hadn't shown as much of his 'kind and good-natured' side as his mentor had wanted him to, but he hadn't really had the chance with such a cold interviewer. Then he'd lost his cool. That never happened, not when it took so little provocation as that. He'd put up with the taunts of bullies for years.

Maybe that explained it. He was used to insults against him, but not against his friends. Not against people who couldn't handle it. He just couldn't stand hearing Astra talk about Ethine that way, as if she was no more than a number.

He hadn't lied when he said he'd prove her wrong. He'd wanted to protect Ethine before, but now it was an act of defiance, going against the Capitol. He'd do anything to see the look on Astra's face when Ethine reached the final eight.

**

* * *

Ambrossia Halls – District Eleven**

Patiently, Ambie sat through the interviews, waiting for her turn. It seemed strange that the tributes were all made to watch each other – surely it made them harder to kill if you knew more about them? She was going to find killing hard enough anyway, even without knowing about Damien's dead mother or Sable's fiancée. Fortunately, Maggie seemed slightly more confident on the killing front than Ambie did. Maggie didn't want to kill, but she knew that she had to if she wanted to survive. Ambie wasn't so sure that she wanted to survive, if it meant having so much blood on her conscience.

She wasn't looking forward to her interview. Her mentor had told her to go for the 'cute and sweet' angle, but that wasn't going to be easy with Astra as the host. Astra hadn't been as bad as she had been the past few years, maybe she was finally getting the hang of it. Unlike so many of the tributes, who seemed to view Astra as some kind of witch, Ambie felt slightly sorry for the woman. She could tell that Astra tried, she really did, but it just didn't come easily to her. The Capitol knew that they were never going to find a new Caesar, so they'd gone for a completely different angle with Astra Mirran. She'd originally been on one of the programmes that supported the games coverage, where she'd interview celebrities, Gamemakers and past victors for their opinions on the games. She'd always been sarcastic and harsh with her cutting comments, but her interviewees were used to it and did it themselves. Apparently that was how chat shows worked in the Capitol. That interviewing tactic didn't transfer well to tributes, and Astra didn't seem to realise that. She was used to interviewing rich, famous Capitolians, not scared district kids.

Although Ambie could see that, it didn't stop her from being frightened about her own interview. Ellis was being interviewed, and she was next. She was terrified that she was going to burst into tears. There hadn't been any criers so far that night, though Sable and Valkyrie had both come close. Ambie was almost crying just by thinking about the games, she didn't know how she'd handle an interview with Astra. If she cried then the sponsors wouldn't look twice at her. Despite having a very good score for her age and district, if they thought she was weak then they wouldn't put a penny on her.

The buzzer sounded and Ambie nervously walked towards the front of the stage with dainty steps. She sat down opposite Astra and straightened her skirt. Astra smiled at her, trying to look comforting but failing. Astra didn't seem to be able to manage a smile that wasn't a smirk.

"Ambrossia Halls?" she said.

Ambie nodded. "I prefer Ambie," she said softly.

"Ambie it is then! You're our noble little volunteer, aren't you? Didn't get many this year."

"I had to volunteer," Ambie said. "There was no way I couldn't."

"Why? I mean, you don't exactly look like the type to be drawn to the games by a promise of blood and violence."

"It wasn't anything like that. I'm terrified of the games – I'm no killer."

"Then why did you volunteer? Did you think you were just going on a fun-filled trip to the Capitol?"

"No," Ambie said, her voice still quiet. "I might be small but I'm not stupid. I volunteered to save my sister."

"Was she the girl who was reaped?"

Ambie nodded. "Shellie Halls. I... I couldn't let her die. I love her – so much you wouldn't believe it. I don't know what I'd do without her."

"Doesn't she feel the same way about you though? Won't she feel a bit miffed if she sees you being tortured on screen?"

Ambie's eyes widened and she felt a lump in her throat. Not the tears... "She will," she said quietly, not letting Astra catch the way that her voice wavered.

"Why didn't you just let her go then? She's older than you, right? She probably stood a better chance."

Squeezing her eyes shut to hold back tears, Ambie shook her head. "She's ill, she always has been. Neither of us stand much of chance, but I'm stronger. I'm faster. I've learnt how to fight. She'd never have been able to."

"What's wrong with her?"

"We don't know, she's always been sick and frail. She... she has these fits and every time I think 'this is it, she's really going to die' and I can't bear it," She couldn't hold back the tears now. They stung her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, tinted with the mascara her stylist had forced on her. "But when that happens, I'm there to hold her hand, to tell her she'll be okay, even if I don't believe it myself. If she died without me, or Mother and Father, just scared and alone in the arena, I couldn't live with myself. Not if there was something I could have done to stop it. So I did – I volunteered. I don't fancy my chances, but they're better than hers."

She heard a few sobs in the audience, echoing her own. Astra smiled with sympathy that looked faked even if it wasn't. "Don't take this the wrong way, but surely if she's that close to death anyway it would have been better for her to go in the arena. Get it over with. Then you wouldn't have had to throw your life away."

Ambie was relieved to hear some gasps amongst the audience. That was harsh, even for Astra, and hit Ambie deep in her heart. She couldn't say anything, she was too shocked to do anything other than let the silent tears trickle down her face. The boy from Three had already had a go at Astra for judging people, Ambie didn't want to do the same. She wasn't sure that she'd have been brave enough if she had wanted to.

"I love her," she said, eventually. "If you felt the same way that I did then you'd understand. If you had someone you cared for that much, you'd 'throw your life away' too." She couldn't look Astra in the eye. She could barely speak without her voice breaking. "I'm not throwing it away. I will cling to it for as long as I can. I will fight to see Shellie again."

"You'll fight, but will you win?"

Ambie hesitated. Again, words didn't offer themselves to her. She wanted to win, of course she did, but could she really do it? She didn't know if she could. "I'll try. I'll try as hard as I can."

"Not exactly confident then?"

She shook her head. "How can I be? I've done better than I'd thought I would so far, but that doesn't compare to the Careers, or even some of the other district kids. I'll try my hardest, and I'll do my best, but I'm not sure that my best will be enough."

"Well, good luck to you. You certainly surprised me with your score, I'd like you to surprise me again."

"I... thank you. I'll try. But... I just hope it's quick," she said, feeling that it was something she had to say. "I don't want to hurt." She looked up and out at the audience, knowing that her frightened face was being broadcast all over Panem. "Mother, Father, Shellie – I love you, I always will. And I don't regret this. Not at all. Don't blame yourselves. I know I've done what's right."

The squeal of the buzzer cut across the stage. Ambie nodded to Astra, quietly thanking her, and returned to her seat, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and smearing her makeup across her face. She was still shaking as she sat there, from fear and sadness and anger. Bliric was next up. Ambie was just as nervous about Bliric's interview as she had been about her own. His mentor had clearly tried to make him 'dangerous' but Bliric was possibly the least threatening person to ever wear an eyepatch. She'd seen him practicing scowling in the mirror earlier. It had made him look more quizzical than angry.

She stared at the floor in front of her, watching the colourful shadows that the stage lights cast dance and overlap. The tears that fell from her eyes did nothing to them. Not only had she killed any chance that she had at getting sponsors, she'd given up on herself. She hadn't realised it before, how resigned she was to her fate. She'd known that there was a chance that she'd die, but it was only during her interview that she accepted it.

She wasn't scared. Ironically, that thought frightened her. Death was the only way out of the games where she could still be herself. In a perfect world, she'd win without killing anyone. But it wasn't a perfect world. If she wanted to win then she'd have to bloody her blade. She didn't want that. She would fight, she would get as far as she could, but she'd know that death was waiting for her. When it came, she'd accept it, and fall asleep for the last time.

She was dying for a good cause – to keep the person she cared about the most in the whole world alive. That wasn't throwing her life away. It was using it in the best way that she could.

Though winning without killing anyone would be nice.

**

* * *

One chapter left until the games! I'm so excited :)**

**Sorry that I didn't get round to replying to all of the reviews that I meant to – I'll try harder this time. Remember to review! I'll be writing the bloodbath soon, and reviewing will help your tribute to survive!**

**You can also help your tribute, and other tributes, make it out alive by going and voting on the poll on my profile. You can vote for up to twelve tributes :) I won't stick 100% to the reviews and poll, but it will be the main way I choose who's going to die.**

**Update Question: Which tributes do you think would work well as a couple? I've already got ideas about the romance subplots, but I'd like to know your opinions :)**


	13. Knight and Knave

**Rufus Malus – District Four**

"So, which tributes can we expect to see the last of tomorrow?" the woman on the television said, flashing a perfect smile as she talked about death.

"Well, there are a lot of tough ones in the arena this year, I can't say that any of them will die easily," the Gamemaker said. "Going by the scores, we should be saying goodbye to Ethine, Maggie, Sable and Bliric, but I'm not so sure. It's certainly going to be an interesting Games this year."

Rufus snorted as he watched the television. The sound had been turned down low so that he didn't wake anyone up, and the light from the screen was the only one on in the room. Valkyrie, the mentors and the escort had all gone to sleep about half an hour before, and had urged him to do the same. He knew he needed rest, but he couldn't calm his mind. Tomorrow. Just one more day and the killing would begin. Instead of sleeping, he was watching the 'All Night Hunger Games Countdown Party!', where Capitolians shared their inane opinions on the tributes. So far, he hadn't heard a bad word said about him and his eleven. Currently, the presenter, a Gamemaker and the head of a betting website were discussing the bloodbath.

As they spoke, he knew they were wrong. They all expected the younger, weaker tributes to appear in the sky tomorrow. That was what always happened, and it was ridiculous. Rufus was going to target the strongest, his main competition, at the bloodbath. If the weak tributes escaped then they'd still be weak tributes. Strong tributes could actually be a threat.

He was keeping the Careers alive of course, until the final twelve at least. He didn't particularly like any of them, but they'd all be useful allies. Then he'd take care of Tyler and the girls would take each other down. He had a list in his mind of the tributes he'd be going after the next day, the ones whose blood would stain his hands. Damien Snowe was top of the list. If he was anything like his father, he needed to die. Christina Robins was a recent addition to the list. Originally he'd thought that she'd be one of the small, weak ones, but then she'd got a score a Career would be proud of. She looked easy to kill though. He trusted Terra to take down Kaleb and Valkyrie. She seemed to have developed a bit of a vendetta against them both. He wouldn't have killed Valkyrie anyway. Going straight for your district partner was never a good tactical decision. After Damien and Christina were the not quite so good ones that still posed a threat – Key, Creed, Raylene and Ade. If he could tick all of the names off of his list then he'd call it a successful bloodbath. The Games would be a piece of cake with them dead.

"What about you?" the presenter asked, turning the businessman. "Who are the odds against?"

"I'll have to agree that it's going to be a strange year," the head of the website said. "There's a lot of variation on who people are betting on for the bloodbath. Our big two are Sable and Ambrossia. Sable doesn't seem to have that fighting spirit needed to last long. Ambrossia, well, she's strange one. She's got a good few sponsors, from the cuteness and the sob story, but lots of people are betting on her to be a bloodbath. You saw her interview – she'd not exactly confident, is she?"

"She's very sweet though," the presenter said.

"That's not really something that helps you survive the bloodbath," said the Gamemaker. "It's about wits, speed and strength. About knowing when to take risks and when to run. Lots of people forget that about the bloodbath, it's a test of your common sense as well as your ability to kill. You've seen it before – the big, strong tribute goes charging in and is taken down by an arrow to the skull."

Rufus smiled. He might have looked like the brute, but he wasn't lacking in the brains department either. He had everything needed to survive the bloodbath, and everything needed to win the Hunger Games. He knew that he was going to win, and so did most of the Capitol, from the odds that they had for him.

"Well, I think we can all agree that we can't wait for tomorrow!" the presenter said.

Rufus muted the television as it cut to an advert break, showing commercials for the kind of useless rubbish that Capitolians were willing to spend hundreds on. Without the noise of the television, he could hear another sound. Distant, muffled by walls, but still clear enough to hear. Someone was crying. He could guess who.

Valkyrie hadn't stopped crying since the scores came in. Well, the floods of tears had stopped, but she was constantly sniffing and her eyes were rimmed with red. She'd put a lot into training, and had managed to convince herself that she was one of the Careers. Rufus didn't know how she'd been able to fool herself that much. He'd been able to see that she wouldn't be one of them right from the very beginning. She wasn't useless – she'd got a good score – but she wasn't a Career. She wasn't ruthless enough.

Her sobs were becoming annoying now, and the flashing, vibrant television was even more so. With a sigh, Rufus stood up and switched off the television. The light vanished, leaving him in darkness with Valkyrie's cries. Sleep had caught up with him, and he found himself longing for rest. It was going to be a long day tomorrow, after all.

He left the lounge into the dim lights of the District Four corridor. His room was right at the end, past all of the others. As he passed Valkyrie's room, the sound of her tears grew louder. He wasn't going to be able to sleep with all that noise. Pushing the door open slightly, he peered in to the darkness of the room. The thin sliver of light that drifted in from the corridor fell on Valkyrie. She was lying on her bed, eyes closed as she hugged her pillow and cried into it. It took a moment for her to notice that Rufus was there. She gasped as she saw him and sat up in the bed, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice quiet and tainted by tears. "Come to laugh at me like that damned witch?"

"I just want you to shut up," Rufus snapped. "How the hell am I meant to sleep with you making all that noise?"

Valkyrie stared at him, eyes glistening with tears. "Sometimes you have to cry," she said. "Well, you don't. You know that you're still going to be alive this time tomorrow."

"Play your cards right and you will as well," Rufus said. "Just accept that you're not one of us and run for it."

"But I was so close," she whispered, shaking her head. "A seven, that's almost an eight. Katarzyna likes me – she'll pull some strings and..."

"Kat won't have a chance to pull strings," Rufus said, "not when Terra's got a knife to your throat. 'Cause you know what Terra's like. She won't hold the knife there; it'll go straight into your neck. She's going to make a beeline for you at the Cornucopia, once she's dealt with Kaleb. I heard her talking about it yesterday."

"One point... one more point and I'd have allies." Valkyrie was crying again, choking on her words as she said them.

"Yeah, but you don't," Rufus said. "But you do have a good score. Get away from the Cornucopia and find some allies."

"I can't..."

"Not us," Rufus said, beginning to grow annoyed. "Look, you got a good score. Any other tribute would be happy to have you as an ally. Just not Terra."

Valkyrie smiled weakly.

"Not me either," Rufus said quickly. "You'd be utterly useless as a Career. It's better that you didn't get that eight."

"Then why are you being nice to me?"

Rufus frowned. He wouldn't exactly say that he'd been being _nice_. "'Cause I want you to stop crying so I can get a moment's sleep. You're seventeen for God's sake, but you're crying like a four year-old."

"I'm allowed to be scared," Valkyrie said, pulling her bed sheets up around herself like a cocoon. "Tomorrow I could..." She squeezed her eyes shut and shoot her head. "Even if _I_ don't then others will. People that I've spoken to, people that I like. They're... they're just children, and they're going to..."

"Die?" Rufus said, and she flinched at the word. "That's kind of the point."

"Not all of us volunteered," Valkyrie said.

"Yeah, and I understand why you'd be frightened," Rufus said. "But I'm not here to die, I'm here to kill."

"How can you?" Valkyrie said quietly. "How can you look someone in the eye, see their fear and then.. and then..."

"They're not people," Rufus said. "We stopped being people the moment our names were drawn. Now we're tributes. Playing pieces in this game. To win, some pieces need to be taken."

"So is that all you're seeing now, even as you talk to me? Am I just a pawn?"

"So am I," Rufus said. "If I had to, then I would kill you without remorse. If you killed me, I wouldn't blame you. You'd just be playing the game."

"Then what's stopping you from killing me right now? Surely it would be to your advantage to start the game with one less piece on the board."

Rufus leant back against the doorframe, looking Valkyrie up and down. She drew back from him, pressing herself against the headboard as she clutched at her blankets. "This game has rules," Rufus said, "which I will play by. And one of those rules said that there has to be twenty-four pieces." He smirked. "At the start, at least. Besides, I don't think I want to kill you just yet. You are my district partner after all. It'd look bad if I killed you so early on."

"Thanks... I guess," Valkyrie said.

"In fact, I'd quite like to see you get away alive," Rufus said. "I mean, you're not bad, as tributes go. And I need something to distract Terra so she doesn't turn on us. If she'd preoccupied with hunting you then I'll be the one to stab her in the back."

"The fact that I actually found that reassuring is pretty worrying," Valkyrie said with a soft smile.

"Well, you've stopped crying now," Rufus said.

Valkyrie's hand rose to her eyes, like she didn't quite believe him. "Apparently."

"Just keep quiet for a bit," Rufus said. "Until I've fallen asleep. Then feel free to bawl your eyes out all over again."

He pulled the door shut, cutting off the last slip of light in Valkyrie's room. As he headed down the corridor again, he wondered if he should go back and say goodnight to her. He decided not to – he didn't want to look soft. It's not like he'd be sad if that girl died tomorrow. He'd probably be a bit annoyed, but nothing more than that. Valkyrie could be a strong opponent if he let her live. But no matter how strong Valkyrie was, Terra was always going to be stronger. Kaleb was almost certainly going to die at the bloodbath, Rufus needed Valkyrie to distract Terra.

He stumbled into his room and collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the darkness. His eyelids drifted shut and he felt sleep pulling at him. Just before sleep claimed him, a smirk drifted onto his lips. It was the big day tomorrow. He could hardly wait.

**

* * *

Tiresius Blane – District 12**

Jack absentmindedly shuffled the deck of cards, the familiar feel of their worn edges his only comfort in the Capitol. He'd had the cards for so long, used them so many times, that he could almost tell which was which from just the feel of them. Every card in the deck was at least slightly battered. Jack had never tried to keep them pristine. If they were unblemished, they were just cards. But, with the corners curling from hundreds of riffle shuffles, they were _his_ cards.

He finished shuffling and looked up at the clock on the wall. The hands had just ticked past eleven. He should have been asleep ages ago, but he just couldn't. He'd tried, but he'd ended up just lying in bed staring at the ceiling while his mind whirred as busily as ever. Although he needed sleep, there was part of him that wanted to cling onto what could well be his last few hours. It was a harrowing thought. Very soon, he could be dead. Even if he managed to survive, other tributes would die. He'd seen people killed before. Not very frequently, but sometimes a bar fight would end that way. Then, the only people he'd seen die had been adults, and very drunk ones at that. He'd never seen a child killed before.

Would he be able to kill? He'd defended himself before, but he didn't know if he could take a life. The people he'd fought in the past had definitely deserved it. None of the kids in the arena did. Not even the scariest of the Careers. They were still children, really. They were twisted children, morphed by a society that encouraged massacre, but children nonetheless. That's all he'd see if he had to fight one of them. He wouldn't be able to drive the knife through their heart. Unless they'd given him a good reason to, of course.

Half-heartedly, he turned over the top card and gave a small snort when he saw what it was. The nine of spades, indicating bad luck and misery. It looked like the tarot meanings were right for once. He laid the card on the table beside the deck and turned over the next one. The seven of hearts, representing disappointment in partnerships. He didn't know how accurate that would be in regards to his alliance with Creed yet.

Jack had been taught how to read tarot by a girl that worked in The Jackal – the seedy pub where he worked. Of course, she wasn't usually paid to read fortunes. Although Jack didn't believe in tarot, he could see why she would. Once your life has sunk that far, you need something to believe in. Fate that could be read in cards gave her life a meaning, reassured her that there was a reason she was born, told her that her suffering was just an obstacle in the path she was set to walk. Jack didn't believe it at all, but he learnt to read the cards anyway. It kept him and his sister amused, and distracted him when he couldn't find a book.

He didn't know what had driven him to read the cards that evening. The last thing that he needed was false hope, but luckily the cards didn't seem to be providing him with that. Their outlook on life was as bleak as his own.

"Can't sleep either?"

Jack jumped at the sound of the voice and spun around to see Helena standing in the doorway. She was in her nightdress and her black hair was dishevelled. A small smile was on her lips.

"Sorry, I saw your light was on and..." she started.

"Don't worry," Jack said, shaking his head. "But you could have at least knocked!"

"I'll try to remember that next time," she said.

Without invitation, she walked into the room and sat down beside him on the small sofa. Jack didn't complain, company sounded like a good idea.

"You okay?" he asked.

"What do you think?" Helena said. "Tomorrow could be the last day of my life, it's not exactly a pleasant thought."

"Surprisingly, I know _exactly _what you mean," Jack said.

Helena laughed, but her heart wasn't in it. There was a haunted look in her eyes as she stared forwards, never looking straight at him. There were smudges of mascara round her eyes, presumably where she hadn't completely taken off her makeup.

"It's tomorrow, Jack," she said, her gaze lowering to the floor. "I can't try to forget about it now, it's right there, standing in front of me."

"I would tell you that it's all going to be okay," Jack said, hastily gathering up the cards. "But we'd both know that that's not true. I hope it will be okay though. Or as okay as it can be."

"Same," Helena said. "Good luck tomorrow, Jack."

"I'll need it." Jack riffle shuffled the cards again, the corners of them interlacing perfectly.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" Jack paused, and looked down at the cards as if he'd only just noticed that they were there. "Oh, I just shuffle them sometimes. Helps to relieve stress a bit."

"They your cards then? Interesting token."

"I couldn't think of anything else," Jack said with a brief smile as he thumbed through the cards. He set them down on the table and looked at Helena, who was still refusing to meet his eyes. "What's your token then?"

"Just a ring." Helena held her hand up to him, showing a thin silver band on her forefinger. The silver tendrils looped around a stone of jet black obsidian. "It was my grandmother's, and it's the nicest thing that I own. I kind of got it into my head that it was lucky, though I did wear it to the reaping, so I guess that's wrong." She looked at the table and twisted the ring round her finger. "But it helps to think it's lucky. Like, somehow, it'll help me survive tomorrow." She sighed. "So, what were you doing with the cards? Playing patience?"

"I was reading them," Jack said.

"Reading them? Can't help but think that they're not particularly interesting."

Jack laughed. "Reading the future in them," he said, then realised how silly that must have sounded. "Like fortune telling – tarot cards and all that."

"I thought you needed special cards."

"You can get them, but you don't need them," Jack said. "I don't have the kind of money spend on stuff like that though. I just make do with these, and they've served me well enough so far. I'm not particularly into the whole fortune telling thing anyway."

"You don't strike me as someone who would be," Helena said. "So why were you reading them, if you don't believe in it?"

"For the same reason why you want to think that ring's lucky," Jack said.

"Oh," Helena said, then paused before saying. "Can you read my fortune?"

"Really? I warn you, I'm hardly an expert."

"Go on – I've always wanted to have my fortune told!" She looked into his eyes for the first time since she'd entered the room. There was a glint of happiness in them that made Jack reluctant to refuse.

"Well... I guess I could do a quick reading."

She grinned at him as he passed her the cards. It felt weird to not be holding them, to see them settled in her hands rather than his.

"Shuffle those, and think of the question you want to ask."

"Question?" Helena asked as she began to shuffle the deck.

"You've got to have a question that you want answered," Jack said. "It's one of the rules."

"Oh ok," Helena said, stopping mid-shuffle.

"Got a question then?"

She bit her lip and nodded. "Will I die tomorrow?"

The glimpse of positivity that Jack had seen in her eyes was gone, replaced with pure fear and anguish. It was how he really felt, how everyone in the building must have felt. His smile fell and he could only stare deep into her dark eyes, which seemed bigger than they'd been before. Then, worried that his own expression was a mirror of hers, he looked away.

"Don't ask that," he said, "Ask something trivial, something silly that's not important. Just please, please, don't ask that."

"Why not? It's not like any of this is real. If you tell me that I'm going to die it doesn't mean I'm going to."

"Then ask something else!"

"How can I?" Helena snapped. "That question might cover all of the future I've got left to predict! I don't want to know if I'll get married, or if I should buy a hamster, I want to know if I'm going to live!"

She quickly wiped her eyes, as if hoping that he wouldn't notice.

"Well what do you want me to say?" Jack asked, trying to keep the harsh edge out of his tone. "Do you want me to say that you'll live? I can't give you false hope..."

"Oh, so you think I'm going to die?" Helena yelled, throwing the cards down as she stood up. They flooded over the table like water from a broken glass.

"I didn't mean that," Jack said through gritted teeth as he began to gather up the cards. "I just didn't want you..."

"Then tell me I'm going to die!"

"How?" Jack exclaimed. "How could I look you in the eye and tell you that? It's probably not true, anyway."

"Then just read your bloody cards and tell me a lie!" She grabbed one at random from the mess on the table and held it in front of him. "Tell me, Jack, will I die tomorrow?"

It was the two of clubs – bad luck. Jack bit his lip. Could he really tell her that? Even if she said she wouldn't believe it, it would still hurt her. But she'd thrown his cards onto the ground. They were all he had left, and she could have damaged them without a care. He met her eyes.

"Yes."

She breathed in sharply, and Jack could see tears in her eyes that she was reluctant to cry. Suddenly struck by how mean that had been, Jack stood up and took the card off of her. She didn't make any attempt to hold onto it, and her fingers trembled as they left the card.

"Look, it's just crazy superstition," Jack said. "None of it's real. It doesn't mean anything."

Helena was silent, eyes fixed on the card in his hand.

"The cards might not agree with me, but I think you'll survive," Jack said. "And my judgement is just as good as theirs. I won't say that you're going to live, but I'll say that I think you will."

"Th... thank you," she said.

She knelt down and helped him gather the cards back into a deck, still shaking slightly as she did so.

"For what it's worth, I think you'll live too," she said, with a hint of her smile returning to her lips.

She passed the deck back to him, the cards neatly piled on top of each other. "Goodbye, Jack."

"Helena..." Jack said, searching his mind for something. He sighed, and settled on "Goodbye."

And she left. Goodbye was the only thing he could have said. No 'good luck' – it didn't mean anything when it came to life and death. Certainly no 'see you tomorrow', like they'd ended every other day. Jack never wanted to see Helena again. Part of him wanted the cards to be right, wanted her to be a victim of the bloodbath. If Helena lived, there was a chance he'd have to kill her. He couldn't do that.

**

* * *

Bloodbath next chapter! I can't wait! If you haven't done so already, please go and vote on my poll. Your vote will save tributes. The difference between life and death is **_**incredibly **_**close at the moment.**

**And wow! Over 200 reviews and we're not even in the Games yet! You're all so incredible, and I really mean that :)**

**Update Question: Well, not really a question, but I need a new playlist, I'm bored of my current one. So I need music suggestions! Anything that you think fits this fic, or suits a particular character would be appreciated :)**


	14. Let the Games Begin

**Sorry about how much this chapter jumps about. It was the only way I could show that all of these events are happening at the same time. Sorry if it gets confusing.**

**Anyway, on with the bloodbath!**

* * *

"What the hell!" Terra exclaimed, gesturing at the tight black dress that was doing a very good job of tying her legs together. "This is a joke, isn't it?"

Her stylist shook his head. "It's the uniform that was given to us."

"Uniform?" Terra yelled. "They expect me to fight in _this_? It's ridiculous."

"Sorry, Terrana," her stylist said. "This is the Gamemaker-approved costume."

"What do they think this is – another interview?" Terra said. "I bet they haven't put the guys in dresses, have they? That's not fair! That's sexism!"

"We've been assured that there are no limitations in the female outfits. The skirt's short enough to not get in the way, the fabric stretches enough so you can still run..."

Terra snorted. "Yeah right, I can barely move as it is. What about the gloves? Whose great idea was that?" She wiggled her fingers in front of him, showing how they were encased in elbow-length, black satin gloves.

"There's enough grip to the fabric, it won't affect your ability to hold weapons," he said with a sigh. "The boots are flat and practical. It's not as bad as you think."

"No one will take me seriously when I'm dressed like this! I don't look like a Career!"

"You look fine..."

"It's ridiculous!" she spat, then turned on her heel and strode away.

Much to her annoyance, the skirt did nothing to shorten her stride. Looked like her stylist might have been right.

* * *

Cloud adjusted his tie as he looked in the mirror. It was too tight, and he didn't need anything else to worry about on the day of the Games. Looking at himself, he didn't think that he was going into the Games. His suit looked like what he wore to the interview, with his polished shoes and dark green tie. Normally, the tributes wore sensible clothes, something that suited the arena that they were going into. Cloud couldn't think of any arena where they would have to wear suits.

The closest he could think of was an arena from a few years ago that had been like a school, with all the boys in blazers and ties and the girls in pleated skirts and pigtails. They wouldn't be using that idea again though, it had been too recent for a repeat. The suit wasn't cut like a school uniform anyway. It was dark grey and fitted, like something worn by a smart businessman.

"You okay, Cloud?" his stylist asked from behind him.

He nodded, although he wasn't really all right. He was shaking as he took a bottle of water from her and drank his last drink before the arena.

"Good luck, I'm rooting for you," the woman said with a smile that he only just managed to return.

A knock on the door signalled the arrival of a Peacekeeper, ready to escort him to his glass tube beneath the arena.

* * *

Cards secure in his pocket, Jack walked through the tunnels. The signs on the sterile white walls had been covered up so he had no idea what was waiting for him at the surface. He hoped it wasn't an underground arena – just being in the tunnels made him feel claustrophobic, like the walls were slowly pressing in on him. Luckily, the jacket and waistcoat that he was wearing didn't seem to suggest caves. It felt far too close to what he'd wear to work.

The Peacekeepers around him were silent as they walked through the tunnels. He hadn't expected them to be there – he'd have thought that it would be the Gamemakers leading the tributes to their deaths. Apparently they were busy making last minute adjustments to their arena-sized killing machine.

The sound of footsteps echoed towards him, and as he turned the corner he saw Valkyrie Pyre from Four walking towards him, surrounded by another group of Peacekeepers. He couldn't believe what she was wearing. A long, flowing, turquoise dress with tiered skirts that billowed around her. She had a neat, fitted jacket on over the dress and her white hair was in loose waves down her back. She was wearing makeup. They'd dressed her for a ball and sent her to death. The sight of her, the fear in her expression, filled Jack with anger at the Capitol. The tributes really were just their playthings – dolls to dress up and murder.

He gave a curt nod and she tried to smile back.

"Good luck," she whispered as they passed, and then she was gone.

The next time he saw her, they'd be enemies.

* * *

Maggie inhaled sharply as she turned the last corner and was greeted by the sight of a dead end. A small metal plate sat on the floor. Maggie shivered. This was it, she was really going to the arena..Carefully, she stepped onto the little platform. The little platform that would blow her into smithereens if she moved an inch.

A Peacekeeper clicked a button on the wall. Maggie gave a small yelp as the transparent tube slid down over her, with a sound of absolute finality as it sealed with the base. The sides of her wide pink skirt, expanded by petticoats, barely fitted inside the tube. She could see her reflection in the glass, her face dwarfed by the brown ringlets that framed it. They'd made her look young, like they did at the chariots. It was a very similar dress to her chariot outfit, less extravagant, but with the same bell shaped skirt and laced collar. It was shorter, at about knee length. It wasn't an outfit to go into an arena in.

Her reflection was frosted over by the condensation of her breath. Through the glass she could see the Peacekeepers talking quietly amongst themselves.

"Prepare for launch." A female voice filled the room, coming from some hidden speaker.

Maggie closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to settle her racing heartbeat. Then she was moving, up up up, towards the Cornucopia.

* * *

_Get food. Get water. Get weapons. In that order._

Raylene stared at the darkness rushing past outside of her cylinder. She'd only been in the tube for a few seconds, but it felt like hours, and the blink of an eye, all at once. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she had to admit that she was scared. Her hand went to Kobe's ring. Her fingers could read the carving, even if her eyes couldn't. Never give up. She wasn't going to.

She pushed her fringe back behind her ear, and realised that she couldn't see her hand as it passed in front of her face. The dark was beginning to annoy her. The journey to the surface was taking too long. Her arrival in the arena was inevitable, she just wanted to get it over with. And then she'd run, towards the Cornucopia rather than away from it. She knew full well that she wasn't much of a hunter. She'd need all of the supplies she could get at the Cornucopia.

So she'd get them. Or die trying.

The tube was gone and the plate was pushing her up into the arena.

"Let the Ninety-first Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

Suddenly, the eyepatch that had been strapped to his face was the last thing on Bliric's mind. He blinked, adjusting to the sudden light, and barely believed the arena he'd found himself him. On four sides, around the circle of tributes, were the walls of an ancient mansion. The gothic stonework was laced with ivy and the windows were dirty or broken, showing tattered curtains on the other side. Gargoyles watched from all sides, cracked and eroded by the weather. Above them, the grey sky was a mass of clouds. The tributes were in a courtyard where weeds poked through the paving slabs. Statues stood amongst rose bushes that had once been tamed, but their thorns had taken over the garden. In the centre of the circle was a broken fountain in the shape of a golden horn. The Cornucopia.

The supplies that spilled from it were definitely not what he'd been prepared for. There wasn't much, just a food and weapons mostly. And the weapons... Bliric could almost feel the surprise of his fellow tributes. It was mostly just knives and other small blades. But amongst them was something much, much worse. Guns. Old guns, but guns all the same. Most of the guns were in the fountain, held out of the water on little platforms. Flintlock pistols were towards the edge, with a rifle and revolver nearer the tarnished gold of the Cornucopia. That made up Bliric's mind for him – he was running away as soon as he had a chance. If a Career – if _anyone_ – got hold of a gun then there would be carnage.

He looked over his shoulder, searching for a way out, but there was just another wall behind him. A door was set in each wall, open invitingly wide into the four wings of the mansion. An arena that was completely inside? The Gamemakers hadn't used that one for a while.

He turned back to the Cornucopia and lost count of the seconds as they counted down. Every time he caught a glimpse of metal from the guns, panic hit him. Panic at the gun, and at the more sinister thought that lurked beneath it.

_At least a bullet to the head would be quick._

* * *

Ethine's eyes hurriedly scanned the circle of tributes, looking for Key. Finally, she located him, stood between two girls in ballgowns. He met her eyes and nodded towards one of the open doors, the one that they were nearest to. She nodded in response then looked away again.

The circle was much smaller than usual, with tributes only a couple of metres away from each other. To Ethine's left was Ambrossia from Eleven – nothing to be worried about, but to her right was Rufus Malus. The thought that he could reach her platform in a matter of seconds was not a comforting one.

The costume choices for the tributes baffled her. Suits and dresses, like they were going to a formal event. They were hardly practical. All of the girls' dresses were different – which struck her as very unfair – and there were slight differences between the boys' outfits. The district partners were linked by a colour. The dark green of her dress matched the colour of Cloud's tie, and Key's navy waistcoat matched Clair's dress.

She'd have thought that the ridiculous outfits would have made the situation less terrifying, but it didn't. In fact, it made the tributes look more like they belonged in the mansion, like they were part of it. And everything in the arena was designed to kill.

Then the Games began and the courtyard dissolved into madness.

* * *

Katarzyna threw down the silken shawl that had been draped round her shoulders and charged towards the Cornucopia. Her white dress billowed around her, the slit up the side showing a bit more of her leg than she'd have liked. She didn't risk looking for her allies as she ran – she didn't want to see what was going on around her. Not until she had a weapon in her hands, at least.

Reaching the fountain's edge, she swooped down and snatched two long knives from the bottom of the pool. There was a splash behind her as she spun round, but she didn't look back. Now was her chance to prove herself, to show that she wasn't just some little girl who froze at the reaping. To show that she was more than Jedrek's daughter. To show that she was Katarzyna Klementyna, and that she could win the Games.

There was a tribute nearby, running for a knife on the ground. Katarzyna leapt at him, knocking him to the ground and pinning him down. He struggled, but she was stronger. She could see the fear in his eyes, feel his ragged breaths. She hesitated as she readied the dagger.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, then brought the knife down into his chest.

When she looked back, there wasn't fear in his eyes. There wasn't anything. Just a glazed over look, like they didn't reflect the light correctly anymore. Strange eyes they were, with flecks of blue and brown.

"So, so sorry," she said again, and meant it, although he was too long gone to hear.

* * *

"Cloud!" Clair yelled as she saw the Career pin him to the ground.

She stopped running and could only stare as the girl killed him. Killed her ally, killed her friend. Tears rolled down her cheeks noiselessly. Her mind flicked through all of the time she'd spent with Cloud like stills in a film. Sparring when they first met, messing around at the camouflage station, managing to fail at cookery. Then her mind buried him.

She ducked, barely registering the punch that had been thrown at her head. Tyler Heart's fist went sailing above her. Quickly, she swung out her leg, kicking him off balance. He crashed into a rose bush and the thorns cut into his white suit. As he swore, Clair ran, grabbing a nearby satchel. She swung it over her shoulder and sprinted towards the nearest door with Tyler hot on her trail. But she was faster. Ducking inside the doorway, she peered out at the Cornucopia to see him heading off towards some other helpless tribute.

Then, as the tears began to come back, she headed deeper into the mansion.

* * *

Kale ran towards the Cornucopia, eyes focused on a knife that was almost long enough to be a sword. His feet pounded against the ground and it felt like his heart was beating in his throat as he drew closer to the knife, closer to the Cornucopia. He stumbled to a stop as he bent down and grabbed the knife. As he jumped up, he heard a harsh laugh from behind him, and his blood ran cold. He didn't need to look to recognise that laugh. Terrana Stoner.

"I _did _tell you, Kaleb," she said in her venomous voice. "And, you know me, I don't break promises."

With a shout, Kale spun around, slashing through the air with his knife. She leapt back, giggling, and the blade didn't reach her. He slashed again and she ducked. Was she unarmed? Had she risked taking him on without a weapon? Another attack, another attack that she evaded. She was quick, much faster than Kale had expected.

"I'm bored of this now," she muttered.

He attacked again and she grabbed his wrist in a black-gloved hand. The knife trembled as he tried to drive it towards her, but she was too strong. He tried to run, but her hold on him remained. He tripped and slammed into the ground, grating his face on the paving. Terrana laughed and took something from behind her back. Kale froze. A flintlock pistol.

He stared up at her, trying to see a glimpse of sympathy, regret, anything, in her pale face, but there was only a manic glee. She kicked him down as he tried to climb to his feet. Closing his eyes, trying to stop the tears, he waited for the shot.

"I win, Kaleb."

The world slowed down as the bullet tore through him. He barely heard the gunshot as he faded. Though he couldn't summon the life to say her name, he made his last thought one of Karlee.

* * *

The gunshot echoed around the courtyard, adding panic to the madness. Sable's eyes searched desperately for the source of the sound, and found it. Terra Stoner, grinning as she lowered the pistol and blood bloomed on her victim's chest. Sable gasped and her hand covered her mouth. He was just a boy, barely fifteen by the look of it. And he was dead, lying there, motionless, as Terra tore a knife from his cold hands. Sable had known that people would die – how could she not? But she had never known how it felt, to see the moment when someone went from a person into a corpse. The moment that it stopped being Kaleb and became Kaleb's body.

She felt ill, sick to her stomach as tears welled up inside of her. She was so close to death, it was happening all around her. People – _children _– killing and dying, knowing that if they don't do one then they'll do the other. Sable took a third option. She ran, as quickly as her feet could carry her, stumbling on her skirts as she headed for the nearest wing of the mansion.

It was an arena where the odds were against her. She'd been relying on her plant identification skills to keep her alive, but what plants grew in a stately home? Choking on tears, she sped into the mansion, stopping momentarily to look back at the Cornucopia. She couldn't make out who was dead and who was alive, but maybe it was better that way. All she knew was that she was still alive, but not safe yet. She turned away, and carried on running through the empty halls.

* * *

Key grabbed a briefcase from near the fountain, wincing a little as he took its weight. It was heavier than he'd expected, but that didn't worry him. He was used to carrying metal around, he could handle a briefcase. Knowing it was foolish, he paused at the fountain's edge to get his breath back. Where was Ethine? He couldn't see her in the mess of people. It suddenly felt like there were a lot more that twenty-four tributes in the arena.

A gun fired, and Key bit his lip as the air erupted with screams. He couldn't tell if they were from fear or pain. He scanned the frightened faces, looking for Ethine. What if she was dead? He shook his head, trying not to think about it. He'd promised Astra that he'd protect her, and he would. If she was dead... if she was dead...

"Key!"

He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Ethine running towards him. Running towards the fountain, the heart of the carnage.

"Run!" he yelled.

She nodded, and darted off. Relief washing over him, Key followed her, managing to not attract the attention of any Careers. He caught up with her, and they didn't stop running until they reached the mansion.

* * *

Helena had to get a weapon, she had to. If she didn't then there was no way that she could survive. The arena was smaller than usual, she'd be close to the other tributes at all time. There wasn't any option of running deep into the heart of a forest in this arena. These Games wouldn't be won by stealth. They'd be won by violence.

Skirting round a rose bush, she ran for the fountain, desperate for any weapon. Knife, gun, whatever, she didn't care. Any weapon would make her feel safer, regardless of if she could use it or not. Holding the hem of her dress above the ground, she grabbed a knife from the ground. Something slammed into her as she stood up. Tyler Heart tackled her and she fell, screaming into the fountain.

Her head hit the mosaic on the bottom of the pool, sending a sharp stab of pain through her. A wisp of blood floated through the water beside her. Tyler's hands were round her neck, holding her there. She gasped for air but couldn't reach the surface. Rancid water rushed into her mouth, her nose, her lungs. She coughed and spluttered, kicking and flailing at Tyler. The knife in her hand made contact with something and she heard a grunt from Tyler, but it sounded distant, muffled by more than water. Her lungs strained for air and black dots swum across her vision. In one last attempt to reach the surface, she released the few scraps of air she'd held onto. The bubbles drifted to the surface, and she slumped, still as a marionette with its strings cut.

Helena had always been frightened of fire. She'd never thought that it would be water that took her life.

* * *

Tyler swore as he released the dead girl. The water around her head was misted with blood but there was something oddly peaceful about her. Her hair drifted in the water like tendrils of seaweed and her eyes had managed to close before her life left her. Tyler groaned and clutched at the cut on his arm. He'd been careless, forgotten that the girl was armed. It wasn't a mistake he'd make again.

With the girl's knife in his hands and a smile on his lips he turned to face the tributes, looking for another target. There – another girl, still stood on her platform, staring wide-eyed at the violence. She trembled as she watched, horrified by what she was seeing. An easy kill. He smirked as he felt the weight of the knife in his hand. His last kill hadn't been direct enough. This time, his blade would pierce her heart.

Too late, she noticed him with a scream. She turned and tried to run, her feet catching in her long dress. She came crashing to the ground in a flurry of white and gold skirts. Tears streaked her face as she looked up at him, knowing that she was looking into the eyes of her killer. He brought his foot down on her stomach, holding her to the ground as he leant closer to her.

"Please, please..." she begged, then stopped and blinked.

Tyler frowned. What had she..?

He gave a gurgled gasp of surprise as a knife slid across his throat and he tumbled to the ground.

* * *

Robin dodged a swipe of a knife from Katarzyna, then jumped backwards to escape another. Katarzyna was quick, but Robin was smaller and more agile. The only problem was that Katarzyna was armed. It increased her chances of winning the fight dramatically. Not that Robin wanted to win the fight. She just wanted to escape. She didn't want to get blood on her hands the very first day.

She glanced up and saw an open window on the second floor of the manor. She could probably have found a way up there, but it would have taken too long and made her an obvious target for any tributes with guns. Robin may have been fast, but she couldn't dodge a bullet. She ducked another attack, slowly edging back towards the nearest door. She didn't know why. It wasn't like Katarzyna would give up the fight if she reached the mansion. There were fewer tributes left now. Lots had managed to run away, and some were lying in pools of their own blood. Robin tried not to think about that.

Her attention dropped for a second, and Katarzyna managed to score a scratch on Robin's shoulder. Robin winced, but it was nothing major. She'd survived _much _worse injuries in the past. She met Katarzyna's eyes. Instead of the cold rage that she expected, there was a hint of sorrow in those brown eyes. But there was also determination to win. It didn't look like the fight would end soon.

Suddenly, another gunshot tore through the courtyard, making Robin's ears ring. Katarzyna glanced behind her, looking for the shooter. Taking advantage of her brief moment of distraction, Robin turned and sprinted into the mansion. She ran through corridors, taking random turns, trying to lose her attacker. Her pulse raced as she ran her very fastest, teeth gritted against the air that slapped her face. When she looked behind her, Katarzyna was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Ambie stood, frozen to the ground, as Maggie slumped. One moment she'd been running beside her, then there was that bang that shook the earth, and Maggie had fallen. It was all so sudden, like she was a machine that had just been turned off. She'd hit the ground as Ambie screamed, blood seeping into the pink fabric of her dress. She really did look like a broken doll, with the girlish dress and ringlets. A bullet in the back and she was dead. She probably hadn't even been aware of her own death. She'd just... stopped.

Maybe it was better that way.

Ambie turned to see Terrana lowering a rifle and laughing. It was her – that witch from Two had killed Maggie. There wasn't anything that Ambie could do. She wasn't foolish enough to try and avenge Maggie's death. She knew full well that she'd be killed if she tried to take on Terrana. She didn't want to, anyway. She didn't want to kill anyone, not even Terrana Stoner. Even as she stood beside her friend's still-warm corpse, she couldn't bring herself to face Maggie's killer. She didn't know if that was cowardice or bravery.

What she did know was that Terrana was loading another bullet into her rifle, and she needed to run.

* * *

"D... Damien?" Serene managed to say as Tyler's body fell to the ground.

The boy's body barely missed her as it hit the ground. She flinched away from it. Damien stuck his bloodied knife into his belt and held out a hand to Serene. Cautiously, she took it and clambered to her feet, gathering up her pure white skirts as she did so. She couldn't look Damien in the eye, but couldn't let go of his hand either. It felt like she'd fall again if she let go.

"You... you killed him," she said quietly.

"I saved your life," Damien replied.

He was pulling her away from the Cornucopia, past the rose bushes, towards an open door. Towards safety. She knew that, but she wondered if she'd ever really feel safe again. She hadn't trusted Damien to begin with, and now he was a killer. And her saviour. But a murderer. And there was... there was blood on his knife. Blood of a boy. Blood of a boy who would have killed her.

He dragged her through the doorway and her feet followed, shaking with every movement. Behind her was the Cornucopia. She could still hear the fight without looking at it. The screams, the shots, the thud of bodies hitting the ground. The bodies... the blood... the murder... the death...

Serene threw up in the hallway.

"How very ladylike," Damien commented.

* * *

"Damn it," Rufus muttered under his breath as Raylene vanished into the mansion.

There was no point in pursuing her. She was quicker than him – he could see that – he'd lose her if he tried for the chase. Besides, there were still tributes at the Cornucopia, waiting for him to kill them. He turned round and headed back towards the fountain, knife in hand. He scanned the remaining tributes, some still getting supplies, some fleeing into the mansion. Then he spotted his target. Creedence Clifton, gathering up as much food as he could carry.

Rufus headed for him, but his path was incepted by a small girl with wide eyes and long, dark curls. She ran straight into Rufus, knocking the air out of herself. Like she'd just charged into a wall, she fell backwards and scrabbled at the dirt as she tried to stand. Tracks of tears stained her cheeks. Rufus tried to place her in his mind. District Eleven, perhaps? She definitely wasn't on his list of targets, but there was no way that that twig of a girl would put up a fight.

He brought his foot down hard on her spine, and was rewarded by a sickening crack and blood-curdling shriek of pain from the girl. He looked down at her as she spasmed in pain, and considered just leaving her there to die in agony. But she was only little – the fairest thing to do was to put her out of her misery. Crouching down, he drove his knife through her neck. Her screams gurgled to an abrupt stop.

The scraps of flesh tugged at the knife as he pulled the blade out of her, leaving an ugly wound. It wasn't like she was in a state to worry about her appearance though.

* * *

"Hurry up!" Jack called to Creed from the doorway.

"I'm trying!" Creed yelled back, cursing as he dropped another tin of food.

He watched it roll away and didn't run after it. He knew he'd just drop something else if he did. Jack had tried to get him to run with no supplies, but Creed wasn't an idiot. Weapons didn't matter – they needed food to survive. They'd both seen it in Hunger Games before – tributes who'd gradually faded from starvation and thirst until they just couldn't keep going any longer. Just because they were in a house didn't mean that there would be any more food than usual.

Jack's eyes widened. "Run!"

"What?" Creed looked over his shoulder, then dropped all of the food he'd collected.

Rufus was behind him, knife raised to strike. Creed managed to dodge the blow just in time, and he grabbed a dagger from his discarded supplies. That didn't mean he intended to fight. Although Rufus was only a bit bigger than him, Creed knew that he stood no chance in a fight against the Career. His only hope was to run.

Jack was heading towards them, knives at the ready. Creed shook his head and gestured to the door. Jack reluctantly turned away. Rufus's footsteps weren't far behind Creed's. Heart pounding far too quickly to be healthy, Creed pushed himself for a final sprint. The door was getting closer... closer still...

A hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. He gave a strangled cry as Rufus buried the dagger deep into his back.

* * *

Somehow slipping past the Careers, Ade darted for the fountain. He leapt into it, gritting his teeth against the cold water as it embraced his legs. As fast as he could manage in the knee-deep water, he waded to the centre of the fountain, to where the golden Cornucopia stood. The water around him had a faint pink-ish tinge. He gagged as he realised he was sharing the fountain with a body. His hand closed round a gun that lay at the base of the Cornucopia. A revolver, fully loaded.

Ade had never used a pistol before, but it couldn't be that much different from a blowpipe, which he'd trained himself to use. It was just a matter of aiming and firing, surely. He turned around to see Terrana aiming at him from across the courtyard. He ducked out of the way just in time. The bullet ricocheted off of the Cornucopia, leaving a dent in the metal just above his head. Not giving her time to reload, he quickly aimed and fired back.

The sound was extraordinary. It was so much louder than he'd ever have thought the little weapon in his hand could produce. The gun jerked upwards with a bang and the bullet whizzed past Terrana, shattering a window behind her. Ears still ringing, Ade stumbled round to the other side of the Cornucopia so she couldn't get a clear shot at him. He fumbled with the gun as he tried to ready it. Eventually, the bullet clicked into place. As he was about to aim for Terrana, his eye was caught by Rufus.

He was chasing down a boy around Ade's age, gaining on him quickly. Carefully, Ade raised the revolver and aimed. He adjusted the shot for the recoil of the gun, then hesitated. That was another human he was aiming at. Someone else with thoughts and feelings, family and friends. With Terrana, she'd shot at him first. But could he justify Rufus's death to himself?

He watched as Rufus drove the knife into Creed's back. Ade cursed and fired. There was his justification. If he'd shot earlier then he'd have saved a life. His stupid conscience had got in the way, and it had cost Creed his life. The bullet shattered the back of Rufus's head and he tumbled towards the ground like a boulder in an avalanche. No matter how big you were, how strong you were, a single bullet could bring you down. Under a gun, everyone was equal.

As Rufus fell, Ade lowered the gun and tried to convince himself he was only shaking because of the cold. Over the top of the two corpses, his eyes met another tribute's, a boy with dark blond, tousled hair. Ade was pretty sure that he'd been Creed's ally. He couldn't read the boy's expression from far away. Was he thankful for Rufus's death or angry at Ade for not acting further? Ade wouldn't blame him if it was the latter.

* * *

Katarzyna lowered her daggers as the last of the tributes disappeared into the mansion. Blood was everywhere, pooling around the bodies, splashed on the ground, splattered over her dress. It made her feel a bit ill, being in the courtyard with eight corpses for company. Eight corpses and Terra, pistol in one hand, rifle in the other. Katarzyna bit her lip as she scanned the faces of the bodies. They were the only Careers left.

"You killed Kaleb," she said quietly, not really caring if Terra heard her or not.

"Did you think I was joking when I said I would?" Terra said, joining Katarzyna at the fountain's edge.

"It's just... he's your district partner and all."

"So you wouldn't have killed Tyler if you had to? Not that you have a chance now." She nodded towards his body. His neck was split open and his head lolled back. His styled blond hair was matted with blood.

"Didn't get Valkyrie then?"

"Nah, lost sight of her while I was figuring out how to make this thing work." She waved the flintlock pistol in the way.

"We should have kept her as an ally..."

"We'll be fine with just us. We don't need Val, we never needed the boys. Girl power and all that," Terra said with a smirk.

Katarzyna forced a smile. "I guess."

Terra groaned. "Gah, I hate this dress." She gestured at the tight, strapless thing she'd been put in. "I wouldn't have got any kills if I hadn't grabbed the guns. Even your dress is better than mine – you can still move in it at least. And it's white. Blood looks so much better on white." Her eyes lit up as she looked around at the corpses. "Any of these guys look my size? I could do with a suit."

Katarzyna buried her head in her hands. Day one and they were already stealing from the dead. She wanted it to be over. She didn't want blood on her, no matter how good Terra thought it looked. She wanted to get out of the arena, into the fame and fortune of being a victor. Only once she was in the games did Katarzyna realise that she'd never wanted to be a tribute. She wanted to be a victor without ever playing the game.

**

* * *

Well, wasn't that fun? I'm so so sorry if I killed off your tribute. I honestly loved writing all of the tributes, and it was torture to kill the ones that I did. Please don't hate me :( I'll hope you'll stick around to read the rest of the story, even if your character's dead. Sorry that I didn't quite manage to fit every tribute in this either. If they weren't mentioned, it's safe to assume they got away ok :)**

**Anyway, the bloodbath tributes are the lucky ones. I'm going to put the others through so much that they'll wish they died at the Cornucopia *evil laugh* This chapter didn't show off the arena that well. It's going to be **_**so**_**much more than just a mansion, but you'll find out about that later :) Also, although it may seem like it, this arena is definitely not going to be like the castle in Games of the Damned. **

**List of the dead, in case there's any confusion:**

**Tyler Heart, Kaleb Endrich, Rufus Malus, Cloud Rivera, Creed Clifton, Maggie Sunserette, Ambie Halls, Helena Troy**

**They will be missed :( I'm not joking about that, I loved every tribute in this fic, and I'm really going to miss writing these guys. But it's the Hunger Games, I guess people have to die :(**

**Please review! I really want to know your thoughts on everything in this chapter.**

**Update Question: Which **_**one**_** tribute would you have saved from the bloodbath?**


	15. Silence

Floorboards creaked under Robin's feet, making her usually silent tread echo around the empty corridors. She'd lost track of how long it had been since she left the courtyard. She'd wandered around the mansion for what felt like hours, randomly changing direction when she found a corner. She was sure she'd been going in circles, the mansion couldn't possibly be that big.

It was a horrible place. She'd have preferred any other arena to the one she was stuck in. A vast forest would have been ideal, even if it was full of mutts. It would have been better than the manor. The eerily quiet manor, coated in dust and cobwebs. The place was filled with that odd kind of quiet that was still silent even when there was noise, constantly pressing in on her. She could have jumped up and down on the floorboards or run through the mansion screaming and it would still be silent. Even the cannons hadn't done anything to break it. If anything, each one had only hammered the silence further into place.

She'd have felt better if she was armed. As it was, she was completely alone and defenceless in her stupid scarlet frock. She hated the mansion, truly hated it. It wasn't that it was a particularly unpleasant house. Although extravagant, it was quite nicely designed. But the wallpaper was peeling and the carpet threadbare. It didn't look like it had been lived in for years. Of course, it had never been lived in at all. It was just an arena.

There was just something... wrong about it. Something that she couldn't quite pin down. Like it was more than just an empty house. It was something sinister, something foul, something that sent shivers down her spine even though it wasn't cold. Little things were off. She didn't know if it was just her mind playing tricks on her or if it was a deliberate play by the Gamemakers. It was subtle, so very subtle, but that only made it worse. As she stared up at the oppressive, patterned ceiling, she could make out the vague shapes of twisted, hideous faces in the floral designs. And then they'd vanish, drifting in and out of focus like one of those pictures that was two things at once. She'd noticed the same thing with the paintings on the walls, when she'd stop and look at them. They were all harmless at first, portraits, landscapes, pictures of families. But in the background there were shapes in the shadows that could have just been a slip in the artist's brush. Silhouettes where there was no figure to cast them. Robin had stopped looking at the pictures, they were giving her the creeps. She tried not to watch the shadows in the hallways, but sometimes she'd swear that she saw one move out of the corner of her eye. She'd try to convince herself that it was just an insect, but she didn't quite believe it. Despite the cobwebs that clung to the corners of the house, the place was oddly empty of spiders.

She'd passed several rooms on her way through the mansion, but hadn't been able to bring herself to go into any of them. The doors were heavy, all shut and draped with dust. She didn't want to know what waited for her behind them. She'd climbed a staircase when she'd found it though. The further away she was from the Cornucopia the better. There was no way for her to know who else had survived, who else could be hunting her at that very moment. With the ceiling in the way, there was no way for her to see the faces in the sky. How were they going to get the dead tributes out? Where they just going to leave them to rot in the corridors of the mansion? She shivered at the thought. What a horrible fate that would be.

The sound of a clock striking the hour made Robin jump. She turned to see a dark grandfather clock standing against the wall, the pendulum still continuing its relentless journey back and forth despite its cobweb chains. The hands on the clock pointed to eleven, but Robin had no idea if it was night or day. It didn't matter, really. Arena time meant nothing. Night and day were as artificial as everything else in the arena. But clearly the arena still operated on a twenty-four hour cycle, which was nice. Once she'd seen a Games where the days were three hours and the nights thirty.

Leaving the clock behind, Robin continued down the corridor, acutely aware of the ticking behind her, even as it grew faint. She turned the corner and was greeted by light. The new hallway was lined with windows. The dim light filtered through the dirty panes. Although it wasn't much, it was much better than the flickering lights in the rest of the corridors. Was she finally back at the courtyard? She ran to the nearest window, rubbed away some of the dust and peered out. She wasn't looking over the Cornucopia. The mansion had grounds, after all. She smiled, desperate to be outside now that she knew it existed. Not that the outside looked any more inviting than the hallways.

Past an overgrown formal garden, the grounds seemed to be eaten by a maze. A hedge maze, the walls taller than she'd ever seen before, stretched in front of her, no end in sight. So she had a choice between a labyrinth inside or outside. As much as she hated the corridors, she preferred them to the thought of that maze. The hedges were wild, not the neatly trimmed ones usually associated with mazes. She could tell just by looking at the maze that it would be overrun with mutts. But still, it was outside. Outside, where there was a sky to fly in.

She found a little silver key on the window sill and was relieved when it turned in the lock of the window. The handle was stiff, but, with effort, Robin managed to force it open. It swung out abruptly and she found herself leaning out over the patio far below. The chill air hit her sharply, but at least it was fresh. She breathed in deeply, drinking it in, clearing her lungs of the musty air of the mansion.

One hand on the handle, the other on the sill, she swung herself out onto the ledge. Her skirt caught on the sill as she vaulted it, reminding her that she was wearing a dress. She was going to have to be careful – the skirt would get in the way a lot more than her usual garb. She sat on the ledge, swinging her legs as she looked out over the maze. It was quite peaceful really, in the still air with the dark sky above her. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was back at home, that the stone sill beneath her was actually the bough of a tree. It didn't work. With a sigh, she stood up and leant back against the window, ignoring the dizzying drop beneath her. She felt safer in the air, than under the ceilings of the mansion.

She took a deep breath and ran along the ledge, leaping off of it at the last minute. Her dress billowed around her as she sailed close to the wall. She landed neatly on the next window sill, smiling from the adrenaline rush. She wanted more, she needed to fly, to take her mind off of the deaths she had seen. Another jump up and her fingers closed around the ledge that jutted out above the window. The stone was rough to the touch, and her hands were red by the time she'd pulled herself up. She pressed her back against the wall and looked up. The next storey of windows wasn't far above her, but she couldn't quite jump high enough to grab the lower ledge.

She leapt to the next ledge, not stopping before she ran along that and jumped to the next. From window to window she went, as effortlessly as if the jumps were nothing. Then she reached it. Running down the wall was a heavy lead drainpipe. Bumps and bruises on it provided footholds, but the bands of metal that strapped it to the wall were more secure. Robin swung herself onto it, grating her knuckles against the wall as she clung to the metal. She felt it groan as it took her weight. She bit her lip as it leant away from the wall a little, and she didn't move until she knew it was secure. Cautiously, she climbed, slower than she'd have liked, but she didn't want to be reckless and pull the pipe from the wall. She reached the ledge of the next row of windows, but didn't stop there. She kept climbing, higher and higher, until her hands reached the rain gutter. She swung herself up and stood on the slates of the roof, watching over the arena like the gargoyles that she stood beside. Although she was now higher than the walls of the maze, she couldn't see that far into it, or see how large it was.

Completely secure, she walked around the roof, taking in the scale of the mansion. It was massive, it would take her forever to just walk along one wing. The roof itself was its own little world, littered with chimneys and turrets. She climbed one of the tallest chimneys, easily finding holds in the brick, and stood on the edge of it. Beneath her was only darkness, descending into the heart of the mansion. The chimney was wider than she'd have though, she could easily have fitted into it if she felt like falling to her death. But that wasn't what she was there for. From the chimney she had a good view of the mansion's grounds. In front of the next wing there was what appeared to be an orchard with fruit trees placed randomly. Only a few seemed to be dead. If she needed food, that seemed like a good plan. She liked the roof though, where she could be completely alone except for the slight breeze that ruffled her hair. She didn't want to return to the ground unless she really had to.

She jumped down from the chimney, rolling when she hit the roof tiles to soften the blow. Dusting down her dress, she stood up. Something in the distance caught her eye. Squatting on the corner of the roof was a huge metallic hemisphere. Curious, she headed towards it. Near to it, the slate disappeared and the roof levelled into a perfectly flat paved area. In the centre was a trapdoor. Robin bolted it shut. She didn't want anyone coming up onto her roof from the mansion. She turned towards the dome. It towered above her, the brass panels crudely riveted together. A door sat in its side, a key in the elaborate lock. Although Robin knew she shouldn't let her curiosity get the better of her, she turned the key. At first, nothing happened. Then, on the other side of the door, there was a series of clicks and whirs and a final hollow thump. Slowly, the door swung open and lights flickered to life inside the dome.

Robin gasped as she saw what was inside. Rotating like a mobile above a cot was a huge device, all cogs and pistons with eight arms stretching out. On the end of each was a sphere, twisting as it made its journey around the centre. Planets, Robin realised, as Neptune whirred past her. Each one was huge, bigger than her. It was a map of the planets and their rotation round the sun. And it was completely silent. Unlike the loud lock mechanism, the planets were noiseless as they spun round the sun. It was quite mesmerising. Robin could just stand there, almost hypnotised by the perfect rhythm of the planets. She shook her head to clear it and looked around the rest of the room. Discarded tools lay on work benches next to scrolls showing star maps. It was as dusty as the rest of the mansion and the air was stale. Only half of the dome was metal, Robin realised. The half facing away from the roof was perfectly clear – glass, she assumed. Lined up before it were five primitive telescopes, pointed at the grey sky. It was an observatory, a planetarium. Robin turned back to the open door, and a sign above it declared the room to be "The Astrolabe". Although it wasn't an astrolabe – Robin had seen those before, strange little devices for measuring the positions of planets and stars – it was as good a name as any, and suited the weird laboratory well.

It was her sanctuary now, cut off from the rest of the mansion. They might see her through the glass, but they could never reach her. Despite the oddness of the room, Robin felt truly safe amongst the stars.

* * *

Jack sat on the bench and ran his hand through his hair. Creed was dead. Creed, his ally, was dead. He should have done something, should have tried to save him. What worried him most was that he _could _have done something. He knew full well that, together with Creed, he could have beaten Rufus in a fight. But he hadn't. He'd run away. Although that was what Creed had wanted, he still felt like a coward. There wasn't even a chance for vengeance, Ade had made sure of that. Now Jack was alone again, like he always was.

He was glad to be back in the open air. The mansion had been stuffy and stale, not to mention more than a little scary. The little garden that he'd found was almost peaceful in comparison. It was another courtyard, much smaller than the first, containing a kitchen garden. Some of the vegetables were still growing amongst the dead, a good source of food for when he needed it. The bench was on a small terrace, surrounded by vines and grapes twisted round a wooden lattice that was rotten in some places. Here, it was almost possible to see what the mansion was like before it fell into dilapidation. There was never a time like that though. The mansion was built in its current state, its decay as artificial as everything else in the arena. Except the death. The death was all too real.

Helena was dead. The last time Jack had seen her, she'd been face down in a pool of water stained with her own blood. Now, her body would be in a cheap coffin as it was taken back to District Twelve, the water still pulling at her hair. Jack had seen the bodies coming back from the Games before. In the Capitol they might be pets and play things, but as soon as they were corpses the tributes were nothing. Their coffins were little more than wooden boxes, their funerals simple. Their names were quickly forgotten by all but their family, just like Helena Troy's would be. Jack would remember it though. He'd remember the girl who, less than a day ago, was in his room, trying not to try. She'd been a little harsh at times, but was a good person at heart. All she was now was a corpse.

Jack had told her she was going to die. It had happened. The cards had been right, about both her and Creed. His hand instinctively went to them, to check they were still in his pocket. They were, and felt somehow heavier than before. He left them there. He didn't want to read the cards again. It was just silly superstition, but, just this once, it had been right. He didn't want to risk that happening again. He didn't want to foretell his own death, or anyone else's. If there was such a thing as fate, it was never meant to be known by humans.

A faint sound made Jack leap to his feet. He turned to see another boy standing at the other end of the terrace. The boy had scruffy, dusty brown hair and eyes that seemed oddly cold, even when fixed on Jack and full off surprise at the sight of another person. It was Ade Wysor, the boy Jack had half-heartedly watched during training and remarked upon his aiming skills. Ade may have been bad with a knife, but he'd clearly found his forte with a pistol. A perfect, clean shot and he'd killed a boy. But he'd pulled that trigger slightly too late to save one. Jack found himself glaring at Ade, a strange mixture of rage and gratitude bubbling inside of him. But the past didn't matter now. Now, they were opponents. Simultaneously, the two of them readied their weapons, Ade aiming his pistol, Jack spinning his knives into a defensive stance. They stood there, eyes locked, willing each other to make the first move.

"Do you really think that you could reach me before a bullet reaches you?" Ade said.

"I'd give it a go," Jack said, and Ade smiled faintly. "But do you think that you could fire that gun and not betray your location to everyone else in the building?"

Ade hesitated. "No one will come after me if they know I've got a gun."

"What about a girl with three guns? I doubt that would faze her much. And if you shoot me then you'll only have three bullets left."

"I only need one."

"You really want to kill me, don't you?"

"No," Ade said. "I want to win. And I've already killed. I know I can do it."

"Oh, I'm not questioning that," Jack said. "But you need more than a gun to win the Games."

"What are you getting at?" Ade said, lowering the pistol slightly. Jack could see his reluctance in the way he held the gun. Two hands gripped it, not holding it at arm's length, but closer to his chest. Ade might have killed already, but he'd killed a killer. Jack didn't know if he could kill an innocent. Or whether he even counted as innocent, really.

"Maybe we could team up, rather than kill each other – just a thought," Jack said. "You know I'm good with a knife, you were watching me in training, and I know that you've got good aim. We'd be stronger together, ranged and close combat. Besides, I don't have an ally, because someone didn't shoot fast enough."

"I didn't kill Creed," Ade snapped.

"I never said you did," Jack said. "And I didn't mean it like that. But you didn't shoot Rufus."

"I did."

"But not when it could have made a difference," Jack said, still feeling the odd anger at the other boy. He didn't blame Ade for Creed's death but... but...

"Stop trying to guilt trip me into allying with you! You've seen me kill before, I'll do it again." The gun shook in Ade's hands. "I'm good at headshots, remember?"

"And that's why we should team up," Jack said. "We're both good fighters, we'll be better together than apart. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought Creed into this." Swallowing the numb anger, he dropped his knives. The clatter of them as they hit the patio rang around the courtyard. Slowly and deliberately, he raised his hands. "Go on then, shoot me, if that's what you want."

A look of shock flashed onto Ade's face, and then he frowned. As carefully as he could, he aimed the shaking gun at Jack, who closed his eyes and let a slight smile drift onto his lips. Ade's finger trembled by the trigger, waiting to pull. Then

"Damn it!" Ade hissed.

Jack opened one eye to see that Ade had lowered the gun, and was just glaring at Jack, his spare hand a fist.

"How the hell do you think I could shoot you in cold blood? I'm not a psychopath!" He stormed across the terrace and Jack laughed hollowly. "Stop with that smirk!" Ade snapped, picking up one of Jack's knives and holding it out to him. "Fight me!"

Jack took the knife and returned it to his belt. "I think we can both see that that's not going to happen." He collected his other knife and sat down on the bench again.

"You bastard," Ade said, with a hint of a smile. He lent back against the trellis, luckily choosing a section that hadn't rotted. "What made you do that? I mean, nothing was stopping me from killing you."

"I wouldn't have done it if I knew that you wouldn't have fired."

"You don't know me at all," Ade said, beginning to calm down. "You had no way of telling that."

"Really? You made it pretty obvious that you didn't want to kill me."

"I think I told you the opposite several times."

"I could read you like a book," Jack said. "It was clear what was going to happen."

"So you can read my mind now, witch boy?" Ade scoffed.

"Nope, just your body language," Jack said, looking up to meet Ade's cold hazel eyes. He noticed a slight dimple in the other boy's left cheek that only showed when he smiled, or smirked, as the case may be.

"Are you really that desperate for an ally that you want to team with me?" Ade said. "I'm not exactly the nicest person in the arena."

"I can see that as well. But you're not as bad as you think," Jack said, standing up. "So, what do you say? Allies?"

He held out his hand to Ade, who looked down at it warily, as if it was a creature waiting to strike. He sighed, and clasped Jack's white-gloved hand in his own. "I think so, witch boy."

"First things first, we're losing that nickname," Jack said, smiling.

"Hey, just because we're allies doesn't mean I suddenly have to be nice to you," Ade said, but returned Jack's smile.

"When I asked Creed to be allies, he insisted that we were just allies, not friends," Jack said, gaze falling to the ground. "So I'm fine with a little hostility. It's what I expected anyway. After all, an alliance is only temporary. There'll come a time when... when it has to end, and I don't want that to be too difficult."

Ade raised an eyebrow. "Hey, until the final eight, at least, we're allies now. That means I'll fight for you, and you'll fight for me. We can't secretly hate each other. That can be the first rule of our alliance – no backstabbing, not ever. No matter how much you hate me, or vice versa, we'll break this alliance formally, no betrayal. Deal?"

"Sounds good to me," Jack said. "So we're an alliance with rules now? Fancy."

"What we've got at the moment is chaos. Heck, the only real rule is no eating each other. Doesn't exactly fill you with hope, does it?"

Jack laughed. "Well, there are two rules now, for us at least."

Ade pushed himself away from the trellis, which groaned and trembled. He glanced back at it to check it wasn't about to fall on him, and turned back to Jack. "I'm sorry that I didn't kill Rufus on time."

Jack shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I don't blame you – I should never have brought that up."

"Sorry for almost shooting you then," Ade said.

"It's the Hunger Games, we're meant to be shooting each other," Jack said. "Now come on, let's see if any of this food is still edible."

* * *

Terra looked like a pirate. Katarzyna had thought that she'd just throw on a shirt and a pair of trousers that vaguely fitted, but she'd actually put together an outfit from the clothes of the dead. Maybe she was more concerned about how she looked to sponsors than Katarzyna had first thought. But the clothes that she'd chosen did look distinctly piratical. Rufus's suit jacket was a coat on Terra, who was almost a foot shorter than he had been. Over the least bloodstained shirt she could find, she wore a black and purple embroidered waistcoat that she'd taken off one of the dead boys. She'd kept her own black gloves, and wore Kaleb's cravat around her neck. That was probably what surprised Katarzyna most. There was no practical advantage to wearing a cravat. Across her back, Terra had slung her rifle. She carried a loaded flintlock pistol in one hand and kept another in her belt. All that she needed to complete the look was a three-cornered hat. What worried Katarzyna was that she still looked intimidating. What would have looked like a costume on most people somehow suited Terra.

She still couldn't believe that Terra had killed Kaleb. Not so soon, not so brutally. She had no idea how well that had gone down with the sponsors. Killing your district partner was not a great idea, but Terra had built herself up as heartless and ruthless. Maybe Kaleb's death helped with that image. Whatever his death did, it certainly made Katarzyna very nervous. She wouldn't put it past Terra to turn on her with no notice whatsoever. Though Terra didn't seem particularly hostile at that moment, Katarzyna still lagged some way behind her, dagger secure in her hand.

They'd left the Cornucopia behind some time ago, deciding that, for once, it wasn't the most tactical place for a Career base. They'd have been far too easy to ambush if they'd stayed there. So they'd headed through one of the doors at random – Katarzyna couldn't remember which she'd seen most of the tributes go into. For a good few hours, they'd wandered through corridors and silent rooms, the thick carpets warn beneath their feet. It was all so grand, and somehow beautiful, even in disrepair, but was too still. It was eerily quiet, as if all of the sound had been sucked out of the place and Katarzyna's footsteps were intruders.

She stopped in front of a mirror with an elaborate golden frame and brushed some of the dust off of its surface. She peered at her expression like it was a stranger. The wide brown eyes emphasised by mascara, the dark hair so neatly styled, pulled back behind her head with some loose curls to frame her face. The dress that looked even whiter against her tanned skin. None of it belonged to a killer. She didn't feel like the girl in the mirror anymore. Her eyes should be cold and narrow, her hair torn from its ties by the wind and hanging wild around her shoulders. Her dress should be torn to her knees and red with blood.

"Hey!" Terra shouted, turning to face her. "Quit staring at yourself and get a move on."

"Get a move on to where?" Katarzyna asked.

"To anywhere!" Terra said. "To where the tributes are. The only way that we're going to find any of them is by hunting."

"This isn't hunting, this is aimless wandering," Katarzyna said, making a small adjustment to her hair as if there was a reason she'd stopped at the mirror. "If we were hunting then we'd have checked behind every closed door that we passed."

"Then what do you suggest, princess?" Terra said through gritted teeth.

"We need to find somewhere to settle, to use as a base," Katarzyna said. "It seems we've forgotten that survival is part of the Games, just because we're in a mansion."

"Exactly – we're in a mansion! There's bound to be food somewhere."

"But still, we need to find some kind of base."

Terra marched over to the nearest door and threw it open, revealing a small library with a desk in the middle, bookcases pressed against the walls loaded with ancient tomes. "How about here then? Look, there's even a sofa – that can be my bed."

"That's..."

"Stupid? That's why I said it," Terra said, roughly closing the door. "Now hurry up."

Katarzyna briefly considered complaining, but knew that it wouldn't achieve anything. Terra had decided that she was leader of their alliance, and she'd done nothing to stop her. It was too late to protest now. She needed an ally. She was a Career, it was how she'd been taught to fight. Careers learnt to win with the help of five allies. They were only meant to go solo at the final eight, and by then the Games were completely different. In the early stages of the Games, allies were vital, even just one. The Career group this year was tiny, barely a group at all, but they were still a strong alliance. Any other tributes would be making a stupid mistake if they thought that two Careers weren't going to be as deadly as six.

She followed Terra through more corridors, passing dozens of doors inviting them into a maze of rooms even more labyrinthine than the hallways. After a while, they turned a corner and the corridor came to an abrupt stop, a white door even larger and fancier than the others. Katarzyna glanced at Terra questioningly. The other girl shrugged and pushed the door open.

Katarzyna gasped when she saw what waited on the other side. A huge hall, clearly the entrance hall for the mansion. The door they'd opened led out onto a balcony that wrapped itself around the whole room, from which three grand staircases flowed from like rivers to the patterned wooden floor below. Above them, a giant chandelier hung from a ceiling painted with pictures of gods and cherubs. Gold leaf was everywhere, turning the place into the very image of extravagance. At the bottom of the staircases were two huge doors made of heavy mahogany, presumably leading outside. Finding it hard not to grin at the sight of it all, Katarzyna pushed past Terra and ran to the balcony. She gripped the balustrade in her hands as she drank in the atmosphere of the room. It was easy for her to imagine herself as a princess arriving for a ball, easy to see the crowds of people in formal dress gathering and chatting below, easy to hear the melodies of a string quartet echoing around the ceiling. But none of that was there. Instead, this huge hall was as silent as everywhere else in the mansion, and just as empty. Katarzyna and Terra were the only guests that the mansion would be entertaining that evening.

Katarzyna didn't mind though. It was nice to be out of the corridors, away from the oppressive memories of the bloodbath. She strolled down a curving staircase, carefully treading on the red carpet that ran down the middle of it. She reached the floor and ran to the middle of the room, where the marquetry patterns on the ground ran together into the shape of an elaborate star. There, she stared up at the chandelier which was empty of light. Her dress flared out around her as she spun, and she smiled. Once she'd won the Games she'd be visiting houses like this every day. At those parties there would be music and laughter and servants offering her hors d'oeuvres from silver platters. For now though, all of that would have to live in her head, and Terra would be her only company.

Terra followed her down the staircase, clearly much less impressed by the grandeur of the entrance hall. Her expression was almost bored as her eyes lazily examined the room. While Katarzyna was still beaming at the wonder of it all, Terra headed straight for the doors. She pulled at the heavy handle, frowned when it did not budge, and tugged at it again, as if glaring at it would unlock it. She kicked the door, though it would probably hurt her more than she'd damage it. With an exasperated groan, she spun round and leant back against the doors, crossing her arms.

"We're locked in," she spat.

"Did you expect any different?" Katarzyna commented, still looking round the hall. There were several other doors leading off into other parts of the mansion, and two more sets of double doors opposite the main doors, one on the balcony and one beneath it.

"This is ridiculous," Terra complained, walking over to a suit of armour in the corner. For a moment, Katarzyna wondered if she'd swap her suit for it. "How the hell are we meant to find tributes in this place? There's no water source for them to gather by! They could be anywhere!"

"It could make it more fun."

"I'm not here for fun, I'm here to win!" Terra's yells echoed around the room.

"We'll find them soon enough," Katarzyna said. "It's just day one still, there have been more than enough kills to keep the Gamemakers happy for now. Trust me, it might feel like madness now, but I'm sure some order will come out of it eventually. Once we know more about this arena then we'll be able to work out where they are."

"It's still bloody stupid," Terra complained. "I didn't train for a mansion. I trained for forests, deserts, ice caps, anything but _this._"

Katarzyna sighed and stared up at the ceiling again, marvelling at the tiny details on the paintings. Little wrinkles in faces, different textures in cloth, all things that helped to bring it to life, to make it feel like the eyes on the ceiling were the ones of real observers. "Well, maybe training won't be much help in this kind of arena. But we're still better than them, we can still win."

Terra muttered something under her breath, and Katarzyna knew that it was probably better to not ask what she'd said. Knowing Terra, it was something far from pleasant.

**

* * *

I'm so so sorry for the late update! I ended up having a pretty hectic week with not much time to write, and I was working on a guest chapter for misticalcookie's "Freedom is Just a Dream" (which may or may not be used, I don't know yet). I'll try to get the next chapter up sooner – I still love this story and can't wait to explore the arena more!**

**Also, I rushed the end of this chapter so that I could get it out today, and I haven't read back over all of it, so there are probably a few mistakes. I'll try to replace it with a proof-read version at some point, but it's not that bad as it is :)**

**I liked this chapter, it was much slower than the last one. This is how most of this fic will be. No-one will die for a long time and then loads of people will die at once. I have arcs planned for all of the characters, and I don't want any of them to be cut short! This is a bad attitude for Hunger Games fics, but I don't care – I love these characters. Also, I may rush some of the loners into alliances so I can cover more tributes per chapter.**

**Update Question: Longer chapters that update less frequently (like this) or shorter chapters that update sooner (like Games of the Damned)?**


	16. Together

**Another unedited chapter, sorry about that. Let me know if there's anything glaringly wrong that I've missed!**

* * *

Images of the bloodbath still flashed in the darkness under Serene's eyelids each time she blinked. Of the blood, of Tyler's smile as he leant in to kill her, of Damien's knife cutting swiftly across his throat. She still shook as she thought back to it, all of her usual confidence evaporated. She'd thought she'd be able to cope with the Games but death was... it was indescribable, how hollow it made her feel, and yet so drowned in tears. Years of watching tributes die on television had done nothing to make it easier. Although that was real, she was still a long way away from it, and the Capitol filmed it to look like a movie anyway. She could almost forget that those were actual people dying. But to see it happen right in front of her eyes without the glass wall of the television to protect her? That was different. There was no way to deny it then.

There was still a trace of Tyler's blood on the hem of her dress. The thought of it made her feel ill, so she tried not to look at it. She wanted to keep what food remained in her stomach where it was, there was no knowing when she would get another meal.

Damien had been mostly silent since they left the Cornucopia, mostly speaking to warn her to be careful before going into closed rooms. She still had no idea why he'd wanted to be her ally. He didn't seem to like her, and – she had to admit – there were much better people than her who were currently alone. He scared her, she didn't know why. It wasn't just that she'd seen him kill, but there was something that made her feel uneasy about him even before that. He wasn't mean to her or particularly unpleasant. In fact, he was always polite, even when it was clear that he'd rather not be. Still, she felt like she always had to be alert around him, as if she was expecting him to turn on her at any time. Which, maybe, she was.

Damien's coat drifted around him as he walked. His arena outfit looked no different to his reaping outfit, except for the black gloves on his hands. Serene wondered if that was deliberate, or if the Gamemakers had just realised that Damien suited long black coats. Occasionally, Serene would catch a glimpse of the coat's golden lining that matched her dress. They couldn't look more different, despite being united by the gold. Damien in his coat as dark as night, Serene in a bright white dress with golden embroidery. Though her dress was very different to anything she'd worn before, she liked it. It was shaped like a Tudor gown with a square neckline and flaring sleeves, but was shorter at the front, giving her room to move. Around her neck hung a golden necklace with a diamond pendant that glittered like caged starlight. If it weren't for the bloodstains, she'd have looked almost angelic.

She turned a corner into a corridor distinctly less fancy than the previous ones. While she had been watched by portraits since leaving the Cornucopia, there was only one painting on this wall – a small still life of a fruit bowl. Light filtered in through dirty windows, past thin, moth-eaten curtains that had been white once. A vase of long-dead flowers sat on a table halfway along the corridor. At the end, where Serene had expected the hallway to continue, was a plain door.

She glanced at Damien, who didn't seem to notice her eyes on him as he opened the door. Beyond it, the corridor opened up into a wide space. A strange mixture of smells greeted Serene as she walked through the door – some appetising, some sickening. The room was a kitchen, the biggest kitchen she'd ever seen. Work surfaces stood to attention at the edge of the room and in the middle, some with rotten remains of food and cooking utensils still on them, as if the chefs had suddenly disappeared. Cupboards and shelves were shoved wherever there was room, stacked with cooking utensils and some food. The fruit and vegetables were barely recognisable, reduced to grey smudges on the shelves, and the few scraps of meat that there was were rancid and foul. Dried herbs hung from the walls, now so dry that they looked like straw. There were so many ovens in the room – some that looked more suited to blasting clay than cooking food – and one huge fireplace with a spit for roasting meat. Serene could have stood in that fireplace and still had plenty of room around her on all sides.

His shoes loud against the tiled floor, Damien strode over to one of the sinks and tried the tap. Surprisingly, a thin trickle of water broke the cobwebs strung across it. He turned it off quickly and took a delicate china teacup from one of the shelves. It took a while for the water to fill the cup, as the stream from the tap grew smaller each second. Once there was a decent amount in the cup, he turned off the tap again and walked back across to Serene. He held out the cup to Serene, who didn't take it.

"Take it," he said. "You're really pale, you need a drink and some rest."

Cautiously, Serene took the cup in her shaking hands. Damien's concern didn't do anything to stop her from being wary of him. In fact, it made her feel worse. He probably just saw her as a load that he had to carry around, something that would just hold him back. Something to be disposed of as soon as it was of no use to him. Still, the water was refreshing, if slightly stale tasting. Serene hadn't realised how dry her mouth was until she was gulping down the water as if it was all that was keeping her alive. Suddenly very self-conscious, she offered some of it to Damien, but he refused.

"Why did you want to be my ally?" she asked him, setting down the teacup on the side.

Damien raised an eyebrow. "What prompted that question?"

"I just wanted to know," Serene said quietly. "I mean, it doesn't feel like I'm able to do anything that you can't already?"

"Do you think district loyalty means nothing to me?" Damien said, then laughed at her reaction. "Then you'd be right. I feel no more obliged to help Six than I do Eleven."

"Then why? Why me, of all people?"

Damien shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted something pretty to look at."

"Yeah right," Serene said. "That'd make more sense if you actually spared me a glance every now and again. You act as if I don't exist."

"So you'd rather I was staring at you all the time?"

"No! I... I just don't think that that's your real motivation," Serene said.

"Then you're right again."

"Then what _is_?" Serene asked, growing annoyed at him. "Why did you ask me? You're good enough to join the Careers, you don't need me!"

"I know," Damien said. "I don't need you at all Serene. You have no worth to me other than as a meat shield."

Serene stood there, wide eyed and staring at him, unable to speak. She'd been worried that he felt that way, but to hear the words coming from his mouth, in his usual voice with no hint of bitterness, just stated as facts, left her paralysed. Suddenly, her throat was very dry again.

"But... But... That explains nothing! If I was useless to you then you'd never have wanted me as an ally."

"Exactly. Seems you weren't able to catch that lie. Relax, Serene, it's clear how nervous you are, and that you don't trust me. You know that if I didn't want you here then you wouldn't be here."

"Then why..?" Serene said, still stunned by what he'd said, even if it was a lie. Apparently.

"I'm not sure myself," Damien said. "But it's not a decision I regret. Serene, if I didn't want you as an ally any more then I'd tell you. You don't need to worry about me stabbing you in the back."

"Not yet, anyway."

Damien smiled. "If that's the way that you want to see it, then so be it. I've given you no reason whatsoever not to trust me, but feel free to believe your own unprovoked paranoia, if you prefer that to the truth."

"Unprovoked? You may not have given me a reason for distrust, but you've given me no reason to trust you either!"

"Then I am sorry, Serene. I'll try to be nicer to you in the future, but you've got to remember that I'm scared as well. Strange as it may seem, I'm not exactly happy about the situation that we're in. I apologise if I forget my manners occasionally."

Serene wasn't sure if he was being patronising or if that was just the way that Damien was. Though his words did manage to settle her a little, she still didn't trust him. She didn't know what it was. The smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, the way he held himself, his formal way of talking, she didn't know. But no matter how she felt about him, it was pretty clear that they were allies now. And if anyone was able to call off the alliance, it wasn't her.

Without a word, Damien turned away from her and headed across the kitchen, his uninterested gaze flitting from shelf to shelf. Eventually, his eyes settled on what seemed to be a small hatch in the wall. He walked over to it, flicked it open and peered inside.

"What is it?" Serene asked, breaking the silence.

"A dumbwaiter," Damien said.

"A what?"

"A dumbwaiter," Damien said again, then sighed when he realised that the words went straight over her head. "It's like a little lift, operated by pulleys. Servants would use it to carry food and cutlery from the kitchen to a room at the top." He looked Serene up and down. "How heavy are you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Serene said, and Damien ignored her.

"It looks pretty tough," he said, inspecting the dumb waiter. "It would probably be able to hold."

Realisation suddenly dawned on Serene. "I'm not getting on that thing."

"Don't worry, even if you did fall, it wouldn't be far."

"Why on earth do you want me to anyway? What could that achieve?"

"Well, it would be nice to have access to the kitchens," Damien said. "But I don't think we should use them as a base, the smell is atrocious. So if the room at the top is usable then we can base ourselves there."

"But why don't we just go up the stairs?"

"Because this house is like a maze, it would be difficult to find the exact room," Damien said. "Now get onto it. I thought you wanted us to work as a team more."

"Yes, but..." Serene knew that there was no point in complaining. With a sigh, she headed over to Damien, who smiled at her.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine," he said.

Forcing down protests, Serene shook as she climbed onto the dumbwaiter. It was little more than a tray beneath her. Above her was a dark shaft that she couldn't see the end of, littered with spider's webs. Serene hoped that the spiders had left – she hated those things. She pulled her legs in close to her, making herself as small as possible. She bundled her skirts around her, not wanting them to catch on anything on the way up.

"Secure?" Damien asked, and she nodded, though she couldn't have felt further from it.

Then Damien grabbed the pulley and the dumbwaiter started to rise. Serene already wished that she'd complained more, the rickety old device did not make her feel safe in the slightest. She watched as Damien disappeared from view and she rose into the belly of the mansion, engulfed in darkness.

"Let me know when you're at the top," Damien called after her.

She nodded frantically although he couldn't see her, she was too scared to speak. The invisible walls passed close to her, and the mechanisms of the dumbwaiter were loud, each rattle and clank echoing around the darkness. She forced her eyes open so that she could see when she reached the top. If she missed it and didn't tell Damien then she could end up squished against a ceiling she couldn't see. It wasn't a pleasant thought. After god knows how long, she saw a vague light in the tunnel above her.

"Almost there," she whispered to herself.

Eventually, the dumb waiter reached another hatch, only visible by the scraps of light that crept in around the edges.

"Stop!" she yelled, louder than she'd intended to.

The dumbwaiter came to a juddering halt and the sound of it stopped, replaced by her jagged breathing and racing heartbeat. The silence was worse than the mechanical groan. The walls felt closer than before.

"What do you see?" Damien's voice was faint and echoed in the darkness like the voice of a ghost.

"There's a hatch," Serene called back, trying to stop her voice from quivering. She tapped against the hatch, and panic filled her when it didn't move. "I think it's locked!" she added, her voice surprisingly high.

"Break it down," Damien replied.

"I can't!"

"Yes you can!" Damien yelled, clearly growing annoyed.

Serene didn't reply. Putting all of her weight into it, she pushed against the hatch. It remained as sturdy as ever. Her breathing quickened, despite her efforts to control it. She tried kicking at the door, and felt it shudder through the sole of her boot. Gritting her teeth, she pulled both feet back and then slammed them into the hatch. After a few more kicks, it fell down. She tumbled out of it, panting from fear and exhaustion, onto the hard, wooden floor below.

She lay there, groaning, and stared up at a high, arched ceiling that was held up by old rafters. Her name drifted towards her from the hatch. Head spinning, she stood up and leant against the edge of the dumbwaiter for support.

"I'm out," she called down, voice hoarse.

"Where are you?"

For the first time, Serene looked around the room she was in. It was just as big as the kitchens below, and even more impressive. Three huge tables made of a dark wood filled most of it, surrounded by chairs covered in decorative carvings. Candelabras stood on all of them, wax dried on their golden arms. A large fireplace was in one wall. Paintings were on all of the walls, but none were as large as the regal portrait above the fireplace, which was at least as tall as Serene. An ancient sword hung on the wall beneath it, under the guard of the snooty looking man in the painting.

"It's a... a dining hall," she shouted down to Damien, hoping he could hear her. "It's huge."

"Any doors leading off of it?"

Serene nodded, then remembered that he couldn't see her. "Yes."

There was a pause. "Serene, I'm going to lower the dumbwaiter again. When I say, grab the pulley and bring me up."

"You're getting on the dumbwaiter?" Serene said, shocked. "You're heavier than me! Will it hold?"

"It should do. It seemed perfectly capable of carrying you."

Serene hesitated. "Okay."

The dumbwaiter rattled to life again and she watched as the platform began to sink out of sight. Rubbing her arm, she found the pulleys on the wall. The rope ran through it as the platform was lowered, and she tried to work out how it worked. Eventually, the rope stopped and the machine fell silent again.

"Okay, Serene, I'm ready," Damien's voice came again.

Biting her lip, she began to pull the dumbwaiter up. It was more difficult than she'd have thought, as she strained against the weight. The rope burnt her hands and was difficult to control. Sometimes it would move too fast and sometimes it would come to an abrupt stop and refuse to move. She just had to keep going though. If she stopped, Damien would either be trapped in the darkness or would plummet back to the kitchen, which couldn't be good for him.

Finally, he emerged in the hatch, limbs comically folded close to him. He climbed out, much more elegantly than how Serene had spilt out onto the floor, and stretched his arms up above him.

"Well, that wasn't fun," he said.

"I'd call it terrifying," Serene said.

"I wouldn't go that far," Damien said, looking around the room. "We both made it out alive, didn't we?"

Serene forced a nervous laugh. "I guess."

"So, what do you think of the hall?"

"It's not exactly appropriate for a base, is it?"

"It would do," Damien said. "We'll explore the rooms around it. I don't want to go too far from the kitchens."

His gaze fell onto the sword and his eyes lit up. It kind of startled Serene – it was the first time she'd seen him look truly interested in something, and it wasn't a look she'd like to see again. A look of cold ambition.

"That's more like it," he said softly, then turned to Serene, talking quicker than before. "Can you climb?"

"A bit..."

"Good. Please climb up there and get that sword for me."

"_That_ sword? It's massive!"

"It's perfect. Can you use a knife? Get me the sword and you can have the knife."

Serene didn't particularly want to use a knife that had been used to kill someone, but she could use one, and it was much better than being unarmed. Limbs still tired from her adventured with the dumbwaiter, she reluctantly headed over to the fireplace.

"Be careful with it," Damien instructed as she searched the fireplace for handholds. "A blade that big could break pretty easily."

"I'll try my best," Serene said, settling on a route up the fireplace.

Slowly and carefully, she began to climb. She could probably have climbed faster, but she was worn out and shaking. Besides, she was used to climbing trees, not masonry. The fireplace was elaborate enough for her to find quite stable handholds in the decoration, and felt a lot safer than the dumbwaiter. At least she was in control when climbing.

She pulled herself up onto the mantelpiece and pressed herself against the wall. Her toes stuck out over the edge and she was higher up than she'd thought at first. The deadly blade of the sword hung close to her head. Cautiously, she reached for the handle, but almost lost her balance. She let out a small yelp and hugged the wall.

"I can't do it," she said, the words merging into one.

"You can!" Damien snapped, for once letting a harsh edge drift into his voice.

Taking tiny movements, Serene slowly nudged the sword off of its perch. It almost fell to the ground, but she caught it just in time. It was heavier than she'd have thought, and the blade quivered as she held it. Just because it was in her hand didn't mean that she trusted it. The blade was still as wickedly sharp as it was when it was on the wall. She felt its awkward weight pulling at her, pulling her down. She'd heard people describe swords as balanced, that they just felt right in their hands. Never had something felt more out of place in her grasp.

"I can't get down," she said, still pressed against the wall, trying to ignore the drop.

"Of course you can!" Damien said, exasperated.

"I really, really can't," Serene said, laughing although nothing was funny.

Damien sighed and held up a hand to her. "Try lowering it down to me."

Trying to stop tears from obscuring her vision, Serene crouched down and held down the sword to him. His fingertips almost reached the tip of the blade. Clutching the mantelpiece in her spare hand, she gritted her teeth and extended her arm as far as she could go.

"Careful..." Damien said, standing on tip toes as he reached for the sword.

"I'm try..." Serene's words were cut off as she tumbled headfirst from the fireplace.

The world blurred around her as she plummeted towards the ground with a scream. Somewhere far away there was the metallic clatter of the sword hitting the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for impact, when she landed in Damien's arms. Not quite realising what had happened, she slowly opened one eye and looked up at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "But the sword..."

"Don't worry about that. I asked about you."

He lowered her to her feet. She sat down by the fireplace – her legs were shaking too much to hold her up. Damien picked up the sword and inspected the blade. It was all in one piece and – except for a little dent near the tip – exactly as it had been when it hung on the mantelpiece. Serene rubbed her arm, still shocked that she hadn't crashed into the ground.

"Thank you," she said quietly, looking up at Damien. "That was..."

"It's fine," he said with a smile. "You are my ally, after all."

* * *

"We've been here before," Ethine said as Key opened the door to another formal lounge.

"How can you tell?" Key asked. "The rooms all look the same to me."

"They're not," Ethine said. "There are lots of differences – I don't know how you can get them muddled up. Look at this room. The last room had red velvet on the chairs, this one has navy. The sofa's closer to the fireplace, the print on the screen is different, there are three bookshelves rather than two and there's no chessboard. Pretty major differences if you ask me."

"Not everyone's as observant as you then."

"I'm not particularly observant," Ethine said. "I've just got a very good memory."

"Photographic?"

"Very nearly, not quite, but almost."

Key smiled. "It suits you."

"What does that mean?" Ethine frowned.

"Never mind," Key said. "So we've been here before?"

"A while ago," Ethine said. "Which means we're just going round in circles. If we want to get back to the main corridor then..." She paused, quickly piecing together a map in her mind, growing annoyed at herself where there were black holes in it. Either they hadn't been in all the rooms or her memory had failed her. She hoped that it was the former. "We need to go back into the last room, then left, then right, then the second door, then through that dining room, third door on the right and..."

"Ethine," Key said with a laugh. "Why do we need to keep moving anyway? How does it affect our chances of being found?"

"Well, we might have left some kind of trail, which would be harder to follow if we were on the go."

"We haven't left a trail, and even if we did then none of the Careers are trackers. We'll be fine."

Ethine frowned. She didn't want to stop moving, she didn't want to sit on the sofa and read a book. If she did that then she was treating the arena as a house, which was completely the wrong thing to do. She had to remember that it was an arena, that it was no different than running between the trees. It felt wrong to think of it that way though. It was still a house, even if it was dilapidated and full of unnecessary rooms.

"Though we can move if you really want," Key said quickly.

Ethine almost said that they should move on, but it was pretty clear that Key didn't want to. She wanted to keep him on her side for as long as possible – he was a useful ally, and she trusted him. Disagreeing with him was probably just going to drive him away. She didn't want to be alone. Anyway, a day of walking was taking its toll on her. Her legs ached and her stomach growled with hunger, not that that could be solved by stopping.

"We'll stay here," Ethine said.

A cloud of dust billowed around her as she sat down on the old sofa. It felt wrong to be there – far too comfortable. She shouldn't be annoyed by comfort, but it could lower her guard. Her life could be at risk at any time, she had to be alert.

"I'd have preferred to stay in a room with a chessboard," Ethine said, refusing to lean back into the pillows of the sofa as Key closed the door. "Then we'd have had something to do."

"We've got the books," Key said. "And look, we've even got a view!" He opened the dusty curtains. "A view of some dying formal gardens and some kind of maze apparently."

Ethine gave the window a quick glance, then began to solve her Rubik's cube. She wasn't even aware that she was doing at first, it was just so much a part of her that her hands instinctively went to it if they were idle. Key walked back to her, sitting down in the armchair opposite her.

"Haven't you done that enough times that it's really boring by now?"

Ethine shook her head. "It's different every time, even if it's only slight differences." She placed the now-complete cube down on the table in front of her. "What's in the briefcase?" she asked.

"Eh?" Key looked down at the case that had been in his hand since the Cornucopia. "I almost forgot about that!" He laughed, but Ethine couldn't see what was particularly funny. "Anyway, I guess we should kind of check what we've got."

Ethine leant in closer as he opened the leather case. Sitting inside the red satin lining were rows and rows of packets, like how money was carried around in films. Except, in this case, it wasn't money, it was powdered soup. There were all kinds of flavours, but – in their current state – the only thing that they'd taste of would be powder.

"Ah," Key said, smile falling slightly as he looked at the rows of soup. "Well, I hope you don't mind soup."

"I quite like it actually," Ethine said. "But for me to like it, it has to be soup. Not powder."

"There'll be water in the house somewhere," Key said brightly. "Don't worry, we'll have soup every night. Liquid soup."

Ethine smiled. "That's food sorted then. Quite a good case for you to have chosen, in my opinion."

"Yeah. I mean, weapons would have been nice, but I think our focus here is staying alive. We're not exactly killers."

"The suitcase could be used as a bludgeoning weapon," Ethine said. "It's heavy enough, and you're strong enough. It's nothing compared to a mace though."

"I guess that's a point," Key said. "This place is full of things that could be used as improvised weapons. We could defend ourselves if we had to."

"I'm making this clear now – if I can, I'll run away from danger. I'll only fight if I have to. Or if they've given me a reason to fight them."

"Of course we'll run," Key said. "Like I said – I'm much more concerned about us getting out alive than our hypothetical attackers dying."

"I doubt that's the kind of attitude that wins the Games though," Ethine said.

"Anyway..." Key said, the sudden change in his tone making Ethine glance up at him. "Did your photographic memory manage to record any bathrooms on the way here? Maybe if there's a tap that works then we can have soup."

Ethine brought up the mental map again, quicker than before. Once she'd done it once it became easier to do it again. A quick glance over it, and she nodded. "Yeah, it's some way away though. You've got to get back to the main corridor, then take the forth right, carry on through..."

"Tell you what, you look for paper, I'll look for pens. Then you can draw me a map."

"Where am I meant to find paper?"

"There's a whole bookshelf, you could..."

"Draw on a _book_?" Ethine exclaimed, like the very idea was unthinkable to her. Which it was. Books made up such a major part of her life – she spent more time around them than around other people. They made much more sense than people anyway, and were often much more intelligent. Sometimes Ethine felt like she could have a better conversation with a book than with some of the kids in her class. But that would involve talking to a book. Although Ethine sometimes missed the finer details of human interaction, she knew that talking to inanimate objects was not a sign of sanity.

Key laughed, but a harsh look from Ethine made him stop.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, it's just... y'know... you... I didn't realise you were being serious."

"I find your suggestion almost offensive," Ethine said, matter-of-factly. "The very idea that I could just scrawl all over a book? Either you're crazy or you've got a very odd sense of humour."

"Let's go for the latter," Key said. "But I'm sure you could find something to scrawl on! There's probably a diary or a notebook or something. Something that you can touch with a pen without it being sacrilege." Key shot her a smile, which she did not return. She couldn't quite tell if he was being serious or not. She really hoped that he wasn't humouring her. Key was the closest thing that she had to a friend in the arena; she'd have hated it if it turned out that she was just a joke to him.

"Fine," Ethine said hesitantly. "I'll see what I can find."

Accompanied by dust, she pushed herself up off of the sofa and walked over to the bookshelf. She scanned the spines of the old leather books, trying to make out the titles. Some were so beaten that they were barely readable, others hidden beneath a layer of dust so thick that it concealed the writing beneath. These weren't like the books that she had back in District Five, with their mass-produced glossy covers and smooth white paper. These were books with a character all of their own, before she'd even seen what was within them. They were oddly comforting, and oddly intimidating at the same time. Their leather bindings were in regal maroons, greens and blues, the text on them indented into the cover, and written in black or gold. The paper was crisp and beige from the years it had seen. These were proper books, books that the ones in Five could only ever be cheap imitations of. Ethine was wary of removing any of them from the shelf, let alone drawing on one of them. Could Key not see that? Did he not see the power possessed by these things that made them more than just words on paper? These were words that break hearts, explain the unknown, change the world.

"Found a pen," Key called from a writing desk beneath the window.

"I'm still looking," Ethine replied, and her eyes settled on a black spine.

The book was pushed far back, almost hidden between two bigger volumes. It was plain, void of any text or decoration, and was more beaten than any of the books around it. Cautiously, Ethine pulled it from the shelf. Dust flew from the pages as she opened it, making her cough.

"You all right?" Key asked.

"Yeah – I think so," Ethine said, clearing her throat.

She flicked through the book's fragile pages, pages covered in handwriting. At the start of the book, the writing was neat and considered, growing ever scruffier as it raced through the pages, until it was almost illegible. The pages were stained, burnt, covered in spills of ink and strange little drawings. It intrigued Ethine, though it seemed like the diary of a madman. She turned to the back of the book, where the pages were still blank, and pulled a couple from their bindings, wincing as she did so. Keeping the book with her, she returned to the writing desk and took the pen from Key. It wasn't a ballpoint pen, like she was used to. It was an old ink pen, and luckily there was a little jar of ink in the drawers of the desk. Clumsily, she transferred the map in her mind onto paper. The pen was awkward, sometimes spilling too much ink, sometimes just grating against the grain of the paper and leaving no line. Eventually, the map was on the paper, complete with little arrows showing Key the way.

"Thanks," he said, taking it from her. "That's really impressive."

"It's nothing," Ethine said with a weak smile. "Sorry if it's not clear."

"It looks pretty clear to me," Key said. "Anyway – I'll be back soon, hopefully with soup. Just stay here, we don't want to get separated."

"I'm not an idiot – I won't just go wandering off," Ethine said. "Try not to get lost."

With a laugh, Key left the room, closing the door behind him. It clicked shut, and suddenly Ethine realised she was alone. Part of her wanted to race after Key, to not let him out of her sight, but she knew that he'd be okay. It was only the first day, the Gamemakers had had more than enough blood already, they wouldn't be setting their traps on him yet. If he met another tribute then he'd be able to take care of himself. Key was plenty strong enough – she'd only hold him back if she went with him.

Ethine ran her fingers through her hair as she sat down on the sofa, messing up whatever style it had been put into. She opened the diary again, and tried to read it. At first, it was just a trivial account of someone's life:

_Went for tea with Lord Ogilvie, very pleasant indeed. Weather was lovely, and the cake was to die for. Lord Ogilvie was his usual brash self, but made for good conversation once..._

Ethine skipped ahead, bored by the content, to where the writing had lost its grace and formality. The words were jumbled across the page rather than in the neat lines that they had been in before. She had to focus to try to make them out, let alone try to find some semblance of sense within them.

_It won't die. It won't burn. My fire doesn't touch it. It's there, it's always there. In my mind. I can see it, everywhere I look. Every sound carries its whispers. Nothing. Nothing. They're dying. The halls are empty of all except ghosts. It... I... they're dead. I can't... The fire won't catch on me. All the blood, all the blood in my body. No matter how much is spilt, no matter how much stains my hands, it won't die. I won't die. Still burning. Always burning. Never dead._

The words sent chills through Ethine, although she couldn't make sense of them. She doubted that even the person who'd written them had understood them.

There was never anyone who'd written the words. This was manufactured madness, designed by the Gamemakers. This house was no more than a year old, no one had ever lived here. The book was just a part of the Capitol's twisted game, of their story.

But she couldn't take her eyes away from it.

* * *

It was dark outside. Well, marginally darker than it had been before. Bliric doubted that he'd see anything resembling daylight in the arena. Clearly the permanent night had a night of its own, and that thought relieved him a little. Some reflection of reality was always welcome, rather than having to constantly face the grey of an overcast sky. He peered out of the gap that his fingers had carved from the dust on the window, but the gardens outside were quickly consumed by darkness, blocking his view. At least there were gardens. He'd been worried that the entire arena would be inside the mansion, with the exception of the starting courtyard. Knowing that there was an outside was nice, even if he wouldn't try to find a way out there. It meant that there were more places for the other tributes to go, more places away from him.

He adjusted his eyepatch. Although it was padded and the elastic didn't bite into his head as much as the cheap patches that he'd worn when he first lost his eye, it was still really uncomfortable. It didn't do anything to improve his appearance either. In the murky glass of the window, he could vaguely make out his reflection. Most of his face was still visible. The eyepatch did about as much for his scar as a plaster would do for a lost limb. He kind of wished that they'd have given him another mask, if they had to cover up how he really looked. A mask would have looked a little bit cool, combined with the overly decorative tailcoat that they'd put him in. As it was, he just looked ridiculous.

His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it, as he'd grown used to over the years. His family would often go without eating – hunger shouldn't have proven to be a problem for him in the Games. He'd find enough food to get by, he was sure of that.

A slight creak of a floorboard caught his attention. The house seemed like the type that should groan and creak, but it didn't. It was entirely silent most of the time. That sound had to be caused by something. Slowly, he turned around and looked back at the room that he was in. There wasn't anyone else in there. Maybe he'd been imagining the noise, or a rodent had trodden on a loose floorboard and his paranoia had convinced him it was a tribute. Then the noise came again, from behind a door. Careful not to make any noise of his own, Bliric crossed to the door and pressed his ear against it. There was a faint sound of footsteps on the other side – quiet, but clear enough to be real.

He gently pressed down on the handle, easing the door open a tiny bit, creating just enough of a gap for him to see through to the other side. The room through the door was dark, lit only by a flickering lamp, but he could still make out the shape of a figure. A tall boy in an open frock coat, scanning the bookshelves in the drawing room with interest. It didn't take long for Bliric to recognise him, as the lamplight caught out the vivid green of the boy's eyes. Rayne Lee from District Seven, the boy he'd spoken to a few times during training. He wasn't anything to be worried about.

Bliric closed the door, but his hand remained on the handle. Did he really want to walk away? Rayne was a good person – the two of them had got along well with training. If he was going to have an ally in the Games, he'd want it to be Rayne. He wasn't sure if he wanted an ally though. As it was, he only had to look after himself, and he'd be making all of the decisions. He didn't want an ally if it meant arguments and responsibility. Rayne wouldn't be bad though. He was a better fighter than Bliric, and very intelligent. They probably wouldn't have many disputes – it seemed like they had a similar way of thinking. Maybe an ally really would help him.

With a sigh, he opened the door again, the silent care from earlier gone. He walked through to the room, where Rayne had pulled a book from the shelf and was absorbed in reading it. Bliric shifted his weight onto a loose floorboard, hoping that the creak would get Rayne's attention. It didn't. Bliric rolled his eyes – if he'd been hostile then Rayne could be dead. He cleared his throat and Rayne jumped, startled. The book fell from his hands and he clumsily drew a dagger from his belt. The fear in his eyes quickly faded when he saw Bliric, and was replaced by a look of annoyance.

"You could have knocked," he said.

"You'd have run away then," Bliric replied. "And you're currently pointing a letter opener at me – I can tell that's not a weapon."

Rayne frowned and returned the letter opener to his belt. "There's no fooling you."

"I'm sure other people would have been tricked," Bliric said, his gaze drifting to the bookshelves.

The books weren't what he'd expected. There were collections of fairytales and fables, illustrated volumes of nursery rhymes. The room didn't feel particularly childish, but the books certainly were. On a desk in the corner were faded sepia photographs of a family with wide-eyed, blonde-haired children who were probably long dead.

"So you're not going to try to kill me?" Rayne asked.

"I wasn't planning to, no."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Same true vice versa?"

"I guess so." Rayne shrugged and picked up the book that he had dropped. "I'm not really in a killing mood at the moment." He placed the book back onto the shelf, disturbing the spiders' webs draped over the spines of its peers. "Strange place, this."

"Not what I was expecting," Bliric said. "I don't think it's what anyone was expecting really."

"I don't dislike it though," Rayne said. "If you think about it then it kind of puts us at an advantage."

"The Careers won't have trained for it, if that's what you're suggesting."

"And physical strength and speed won't offer that much of an advantage," Rayne said. "Intelligence and stealth however..."

"I still don't see how speaking French will help me," Bliric said with a dry laugh. "Though I guess that if there was an arena where it would come in useful then this is it."

"Well maybe one of these is in French for some reason," Rayne said, brushing dust from the spine of one of the books. "Maybe they put it here especially for you."

"I doubt it," Bliric said, smiling. "Anyway, I never got round to asking you in training, but would you like to be allies?"

"I kind of assumed that we were," Rayne said. "If we both made it past the bloodbath."

"Surprisingly, we did," Bliric said. "So we're allies now?"

"I guess so," Rayne said. "I can't see any reason why we shouldn't be."

A sudden burst of music made them both jump. Bliric frantically looked around the room, searching for the source of the oddly familiar melody. Rayne laughed, and Bliric looked at him oddly.

"We've almost forgotten how the Games work, apparently," Rayne said.

Bliric groaned as he realised what the music was. "The anthem."

He ran through the drawing room to the room where he'd been before. Through the dirty glass of the window, he could vaguely see the crest of Panem projected on the clouds. He'd wiped away some of the condensation by the time that Rayne had reached his side. Silently, they stared out of the cleared patch of glass at the sky, like attendees of a funeral. Somehow, seeing the faces in the sky would make the deaths more real. Despite the violence that they'd both seen, it felt distant somehow, like they'd only imagined it. But looking into the eyes of children that they would see for the last time gave it a dreadful sense of finality.

Tyler Heart from District One was the first to appear, a cocky smirk on his dead lips. Bliric felt annoyed at himself when he the sight of the dead Career filled him with relief. Although that was one less way to die out of the way, it was still another child who had to die in the Capitol's game.

Next up was Kaleb Endrich. Kaleb had been the same age as Bliric. He was dead now.

Then the red-headed face of Rufus Malus took Kaleb's place. The last boy from the Career districts was dead. That was a major threat out of the way, but the Career girls were still alilve. Terrana Stoner was still out there – the best tribute in the Games.

The boy from District Five appeared, smiling for the last time. Bliric couldn't remember his name. Then Creedence from Eight was in the sky. All boys so far – that was odd. Usually there were more girls in the bloodbath. That was just the way it was. When it came down to physical strength, boys would usually beat girls. But when there are guns involved, physical strength really doesn't mean that much.

The girl from District Ten was next, and her blue-eyed face was quickly replaced by that of Ambrossia Halls. Bliric breathed in sharply and felt his blood run cold. Ambrossia had been from his district. They hadn't been close, but she'd seemed like a nice enough girl. None of that mattered now. She was dead, on her way back to District Eleven in a box.

"Are you okay?" Rayne asked.

Bliric nodded. "I think so."

"Did you know her?"

"Not before the Games. But still..." Bliric sighed. "It just feels weird. She's someone I saw every day since I was reaped and now... She was so young. I mean, we all are, but she felt younger." He looked up at the sky, where Ambrossia's face had changed to the dark haired girl from Twelve. "That's all of them. Sixteen left."

"Fourteen of which will be trying to kill us."

"Most of whom will be just as scared as us," Bliric said.

He drew an old curtain across the window, blocking out the sky.

**

* * *

Sorry that Bliric's section was so short – I'll make sure to put in more with him and Rayne soon. Again, sorry for the late update – I hope that the length of the chapter makes up for it! I'm going to have to kill off some of these characters soon or this fic will end up being ridiculously long.**

**Most of the time, I'm just going to be killing off characters when the story needs them to die. I will listen to your opinions though. If one character is really popular then they'll last longer than one that everyone finds dull. Reviewing will also help to keep your character alive longer. I'll run more polls in the future as well, but I won't necessarily stick to the results of them.**

**Also, did you spot the oh-so-subtle foreshadowing of future weirdness? This fic is going to get very weird. It'll make Games of the Damned look realistic.**

**Update Question: Which tribute would you want as your ally?**


	17. The Dark

**Another unedited chapter... I need to get out of this habit.**

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Clair stared at the ceiling, half expecting to see the faces of the dead appear there as the anthem played faintly. They didn't. There was no window she could run to and look out of, and she wouldn't have wanted to anyway. Amongst the eight faces one of them would be Cloud's. It surprised her that that thought didn't worry her much. She'd liked Cloud, they'd been pretty close, but they'd only known each other for three days. That wasn't enough time for him to become so firmly lodged in her heart that she couldn't kick him out again. She hadn't cried for him since the Cornucopia, and she wasn't going to cry again now. Cloud was gone. There was nothing she could do, and there was nothing that she could have done to save him.

Katarzyna had been the one that killed him. Clair had watched as she'd plunged the dagger into his chest and Cloud had stopped struggling. She'd seen past Games where tributes had sworn to avenge the deaths of their allies. Clair didn't feel anything like that. Though there would be some satisfaction in seeing Katarzyna die, she wouldn't go out of her way for vengeance. That kind of thing was just foolish.

The thoughts of Cloud that Clair would have expected to summon tears from her eyes just left her with a strange empty feeling that she couldn't put her finger on. It wasn't sorrow – she knew what that felt like. If she had to give it a name, it was acceptance. Acceptance that Cloud was dead, but she was alive. And in the Games, that was what really mattered.

The anthem finished, taking the faces with it. Clair didn't know who seven of them were, and she didn't mind that. Life was more fun with surprises. Why did it matter who was alive? They were all her opponents. She didn't care if they were Careers or not. Careers weren't always the strongest tributes.

Clair whistled a lively tune as she walked down the corridor. The anthem meant that it was night, and time to sleep. There must have been a bedroom somewhere in the mansion, and Clair was going to find it. If there was a bed available then she wasn't going to settle for sleeping on the cold floorboards. She liked the arena. As creepy as the mansion was, having a roof over her head beat wandering around a forest any day. She wasn't one to get scared easily, and the atmosphere of the manor made her more curious than anything else. There were so many doors with secrets behind, so many pictures of people who may be dead, or may have never lived before. She had to congratulate the Gamemakers on the effort that they'd put in. The arena clearly had its tales to tell.

She stopped by a door with a heavy golden handle and tried to open it. It did not budge. Frowning, she crouched down and peered through the keyhole. Cobwebs obscured her vision, but she blew them out of the way and looked through again. This time, she could vaguely make out the room on the other side. A bedroom, decorated in shades of pink and cream. It looked like a child's room, but the four-poster bed in the centre looked incredibly comfortable. All of a sudden, she felt very tired, her heavy limbs aching for rest.

Biting her lip, she stood up and tried the door again. It was still locked, not that she'd expected anything different. She cursed under her breath. There had to be a way to open the door. It wouldn't have been there if she couldn't. Unless the Gamemakers wanted to taunt her by putting comfort just out of her reach. In the Hunger Games, that was always a possibility.

She kicked the door and ran her hand through her hair. Slumping back against the wall, she tugged her satchel open, half-hoping that a set of lockpicks would have magically appeared in there. It was as empty as it had been before. She briefly considered trying to use the buckle on the bag to pick the lock, but decided against it. She didn't know how to pick locks anyway, let alone with improvised tools. Groaning, she threw the bag to one side in frustration. Rather than the soft, leathery sound it should have made, there was a dull, solid sound as the bag hit the ground. Curiously, Clair picked it up again. It was empty, she knew that, but that had sounded like something other than the bag. Just as she was about to convince herself that it had only been the buckle, she noticed a lump on the inside of the bag. A hidden pocket in the lining of the satchel.

She unzipped it quickly and fished out the contents. A small black box, with a velvety feel to it. A jewellery box, Clair realised with disappointment. She'd been hoping for a key. Although it would have been even more annoying if she'd been given a key that didn't work on the door. Not exactly hopeful, Clair flicked the box open. Inside, nestled in soft satin, were two silver rings. They were obviously high quality, but the huge gemstones that swallowed most of their surfaces made them look like costume jewellery.

"Great." Clair muttered, pulling one of the rings from the box.

The silver was cold and showing signs of age, the rose coloured gem scratched and dusty. It reflected the light in an odd way, as if it was faceted although the surface was smooth. Gently, she stroked a little of the dust from the jewel. As her finger applied pressure, it sunk slightly into the ring. Clair just had time to raise an eyebrow before her hand was forced open and the ring clattered onto the floor.

With a yelp, she leapt to her feet, rubbing her hand. It had been so sudden, like an invisible wall had formed around the ring. Her fingers ached, and the ring sat on the floor, taunting her. She stared at it, eyes wide.

"What... What the hell?" she whispered.

But something made her lean down and collect the ring from its resting place. It felt exactly as it had done before as it settled on her palm, nothing other than an old ring. If she pressed the stone again, then would the wall come back? Her aching hand urged her not to try it, but her mind wanted to know.

This time, she slipped the ring onto her index finger. Shaking slightly, she reached out in front of her, keeping her hand and the ring as far away from her body as possible. With a sharp intake of breath, her thumb pressed down on the rose gem. Nothing happened. The ring stayed on her finger, as still as always. Clair frowned. Had she just imagined it the first time round?

Then she looked ahead of her. A couple of metres away, the air seemed different somehow. There was a slight blue tinge to it, like the edge of a contact lens. It seemed as if the air was more solid, like it reflected the light differently. More and more curious, Clair walked towards it, bringing her arm down as she did so. The solid air followed the sweep of her arm, arching down and knocking her legs out from beneath her. She cried out as she tumbled towards the ground.

She didn't hit it though. It felt like she had, but when she looked down, the floorboards were a few inches beneath her. Trembling, she stood up, her feet taking hold on air. The invisible wall was beneath her, she could just about make it out if she squinted. Not a wall at all, she realised. A forcefield, like the ones the Capitol used all the time. But this one didn't repel her, instead she sat on it as easily as the ground.

A smile began to grow on her lips as she edged her arm forward slightly. Ever so slowly, the forcefield began to glide forward, carrying her with it like a surfer on a wave. Clair began to laugh, filled with amazement and disbelief. She was controlling the forcefield. Not the Gamemakers – her! They'd given her this power, this power that she could barely believe was real.

She pressed down on the ring again and – as suddenly as it had appeared – the forcefield vanished. Clair managed to jump before her feet reached the ground, softening the blow. Unable to shake her smile, she stared at the ring. It was as inconspicuous as before, but no longer had the vaguely tacky air to it. Instead, it was powerful. And it was hers. Not just one ring either – there were two! She could barely believe her luck. Any desire she'd had for sleep was gone, and was replaced by raw excitement. She wanted to test her new tools, see just what she could achieve. Other tributes might have had guns, but she could deflect their bullets. She may not have had a weapon, but she had power.

A thought hit her. She'd only chosen the satchel by luck, it wasn't as if she had been chosen by the Gamemakers. What if there were other rings out there, or other things like them? She might not have been the only tribute to have been granted such power. Not that she minded much. It wouldn't have been fair for her to be the only one. There had to be other abilities for the playing field to be levelled. But she had an advantage. The first day wasn't even out and she'd already discovered her gift from the Gamemakers. She'd become an expert at the forcefields, and win the games without a scratch.

Smiling, she held out her arm and clicked the ring again. The forcefield sprung up once more, easier to perceive now that her eyes knew what to look for. Shivers of excitement ran through her as she twisted her wrist and the forcefield moved with it, following the path of the ring. Another click of the stone and it was gone, as easily dismissed as it was summoned. She brought the ring back close to her, still hardly believing the power that she controlled.

She slipped the other ring onto her left hand, where it would stay for the rest of the Games. Picking up her bag, she noticed something lying beneath it. The shine of dirty brass – a key lying on the floorboards. That hadn't been there before. Or had it? She'd have thought she'd have noticed something like that. She wiped some of the dust off of it as she picked it up. It was a reward. A reward for discovering the rings, for playing the game the way the Gamemakers had intended.

It fit perfectly into the lock.

* * *

With the night came a cold breeze, dancing through the trees on its aimless journey, and chilling Raylene's bare arms to the bone. The apple trees creaked and groaned as their old wood was bent by the wind. The orchard wasn't exactly a comforting place to be, but there was food, and she was away from the majority of the tributes. From where she stood, dead apples around her feet, Raylene could see the mansion. It was huge, only visible where the silver claw of the moon picked out highlights on the stonework in a haunting, pale blue light. Behind some windows was a dull glow from flickering lights, but there was no sign of life in the mansion or in its tangled gardens. Raylene had trekked through what felt like acres of formal gardens on her way to the orchard. Roses had scratched at her legs and vines had tried to trip her, but she was used to it. Years of tough work in the lumber yards had made her accustomed to hostile undergrowth.

She hadn't been able to stay in the mansion. Once she'd left the Cornucopia, she'd known straight away that the mansion was not an arena for her. So she'd gone where she'd have the advantage – outside, amongst the trees. They weren't the thick-boughed trees that she was used to. They were spindly, twisted things, straining under the weight of their own fruit. A weight that Raylene was happy to relieve them of. She'd been cautious at first, but the apples were a welcome freshness compared to the age and decay of the rest of the arena. They were crisp and sharp, sweet and juicy. Raylene had half-expected them to be rotten.

Rubbing her arms, trying to generate some kind of warmth against the cold of the night, Raylene strolled through the trees. On her way to the orchard, she'd spotted some kind of shack amongst them. Maybe it would offer somewhere for her to stay, if it did exist. Her eyes could have been playing tricks on her again. She squinted and, through the dark, she could vaguely make out the shape of the shack. It was short and squat, barely taller than the trees surrounding it. The wood it was formed from was rotted in some places, but the roof was intact. The windows were still there, cracked in a few places and too dirty to see through, but intact. Raylene shivered and headed towards it.

There was a crack behind her, like a foot on a twig. She froze, listening carefully for more sounds. The darkness restricted her vision, she couldn't see much further than the trees directly in front of her. Moistening her lips, she adjusted her grip on her knife. It was the only thing that she been able to get at the Cornucopia. A vicious looking hunting knife, serrated along one edge with a leather handle. She didn't know much about knives, but it definitely looked like it could hurt someone.

Slowly, she turned around, eyes darting from tree to tree, searching for the source of the noise. She clicked her tongue. There was no response. She was about to turn away when one of the shadows moved. It was just a slight twitch in the corner of her eye, but still sent chills down her spine. It was probably just the trees moving. Biting her lip, she turned towards it, holding out her knife. She focused her eyes, trying to make out shapes in the night.

There. There in the darkness, a patch of black darker than the night. It had no shape, just a blur. Maybe just a shadow, but something told Raylene it was more. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her hand.

"I'm not scared," she said, to herself and to the Gamemakers. If they were trying to creep her out to get her reaction then they were going to be disappointed. The shadow set her on edge, but didn't scare her. It took a lot more than darkness to frighten Raylene Mycar.

The shadow had gone, blended back into the shade of the trees. Keeping her eyes on where it had been, Raylene slowly backed away, heading towards the shack. She tested the ground behind her with her toe before stepping down, not wanting to trip. Her sole found the root of a tree and she sidestepped around it, knife still pointed at the darkness. A vine stroked her arm, sending shivers through her. She stopped, her heartbeat rattling in her ears. Her hand went to her arm to wipe the vine away, but there was nothing there. Breaths quickening, she edged back a little further. The chill air ticked the back of her neck, in deliberate blows, like someone's breath. She froze. The wind was blowing in the other direction, it shouldn't have been coming from behind her.

She tried to make herself move, but her limbs didn't want to obey. Fear wasn't an alien feeling to her, but to this extent? It didn't happen. It should take more than a shadow and a breeze to root her to the ground. Swallowing, she closed her eyes. It was just her mind playing tricks on her, she knew that. It had been a stressful day, she was tired and anxious. Seeing things wasn't that unusual in such a situation. Heartbeat calmed a little, she opened her eye.

Gripping the knife tightly, she spun around, slashing at whatever was behind her, if there was anything at all. The knife cut through air. Staring at the darkness, barely able to see anything, Raylene ran. Though she stumbled a few times, she was still quick. She couldn't see the shack anymore, but her feet were running for where she thought it was.

There was another step of footsteps. Behind her, the leaves rustled, disturbed by invisible footfall. There was something there! She'd been right – something lurked in the darkness. And now it was chasing her. Her feet pounded against the ground and she forced herself to quicken. The wind whipped through her hair and past her bare limbs, freezing her as much as her fear. When she least expected it, she slammed into the wall of the shack. She fell to the ground and groaned as she pushed herself up. Keeping a hand on the wall of the shack, she searched for the door. Her hand found the handle and she breathed a sigh of relief. The feeling didn't last long. The door shook a little, but didn't open.

Raylene spun around, pressing her back against the shack. Her eyes frantically scanned the darkness, searching for the thing, whatever it was. The knife shook in her sweaty palm. So much for not being scared. She hit back against the door, causing the whole shack to groan. She wasn't going to be able to break it down, she knew that. Trying to keep calm, she edged along the shack, searching for the window. It was the only other way in, to what might be her only refuge. Of course, the shack could contain more unspeakable horrors, but it was a risk that she was willing to take. She didn't want to spend a moment more in the orchard.

She found the window, her finger tracing the cracks in the glass. It had held quite well, it didn't seem like it would break that willingly. Taking a deep breath, she turned around her hand and slammed the handle of the knife into the glass. It creaked as more cracks slid through it, but it didn't shatter. With a shout, she drove the handle against it, again and again, until her hand broke through the pane. The rough edge of the broken glass caught on her skin, tearing into the flesh. She gritted her teeth against the stinging pain, and forced more of the glass from the window.

In the darkness, something groaned, something that wasn't a tree, and definitely wasn't human. It wasn't a whisper on the wind. It was a deep, guttural sound that made all of the fear come rushing back. The glass ripped further into her palms, but it didn't stop her as she tore the glass from the window. Pain was something she was just going to have to put up with. She dropped the knife into the shack – it was just holding her back. Satisfied that there was a big enough gap to crawl through, she pushed herself up, the shards of glass on the sill stabbing into her hands. Her feet scrabbled against the damp wood of the shack as she dragged herself through the window. Broken glass sliced at her exposed arms, tore her dress and dug into her legs. She gritted her teeth as her body buzzed with pain.

Almost through the window, something caught her ankle. Something as cold as ice. Crying out, she kicked backwards, hoping that her foot would collide with something, anything that would help her. Again and again she kicked, thrashing against the edges of the glass and the thing round her leg. As tears threatened to fall from her eyes, her ankle was released. She tumbled through the window, landing in a heap on the floor of the shack, surrounded by fragments of broken glass. Aching all over, she stumbled to her feet, trying to make out her surroundings.

A glint of metal caught her eye. She squinted to bring it into focus. An axe. Her eyes lit up. She was in a woodshed. The scent of old sawdust was in the air, axes and hatchets were propped against a wall. She darted for the axe and her hand closed around it. She winced as it agitated the cuts on her palm, but she didn't care.

She turned to the window. It was out there, she could tell, waiting for her. But she wasn't the one in danger anymore. Yelling, she threw the axe. It spun through the air, flying quickly for something of its weight. Somewhere outside, something screamed. A shriek that was too high, ear-shatteringly loud, that gurgled down, down, until it stopped.

Raylene breathed in sharply, waiting for any more sounds from outside. There was just silence. Somehow, it wasn't as dark anymore. Pain finally caught up with her and she collapsed, listening to her tattered breath as she stared at a ceiling that she couldn't see. Relief dulled the pain, and she drifted into unconsciousness.

For now, at least, she was safe.

* * *

Valkyrie yawned. She'd been walking for hours, through empty corridors and abandoned rooms. She wasn't even sure if she was heading away from the Cornucopia any more, she could be heading back towards it for all she knew. Maybe that wouldn't be too bad and she'd be able to pick up some supplies. It wasn't like Katarzyna and Terra would still be there.

She hadn't hung around at the bloodbath for a second. Almost tripping on her dress, she'd turned around and run out of the nearest door, not looking back. She'd heard the screams, she'd seen the faces in the sky, but she had managed to avoid seeing death. Not many people could get out of the bloodbath and claim the same. District Four had probably labelled her as a coward – they were so used to brave, strong Careers. It hadn't done Rufus much good. Valkyrie didn't know how, but Rufus was dead. She had felt a pang of sorrow when she saw him in the sky, but mostly she'd felt relieved. Rufus had been Terra's main competitor in the Games. Now Valkyrie only had Terra to be scared of. Not that that thought gave her much hope. Terra had an eleven, and a vendetta against her for some reason. Valkyrie might have escaped her at the bloodbath, but Kaleb hadn't. Valkyrie knew that she was next on Terra's hit list.

She had to be strong. She was all that District Four had left now. A coward, a weakling, just a normal girl trying to survive. They'd been promised a victor in Rufus, and had been given her instead. No matter what her district thought of her, Valkyrie didn't want to let them down.

The mansion around her was less fancy than she'd expected. It was nice, but in a plain way, with just hints of luxury. Though it was still better than any house in any of the districts, it just didn't match its lavish exterior. That probably only applied to the wing that she was in though. She'd passed several little boards of bells on the wall, the kind used to alert servants. Maybe she was in the servants' quarters. That would have made sense.

It was wrong, being inside for the Games. It made them feel different, like she could almost forget that she was in the Games at all. And it made her feel safer, which was definitely not a good thing. She didn't feel _safe_ – the mansion scared her, and she could think of all kinds of things that could be lurking in its halls – but she just felt more secure than she would have done in the wilds. She was somewhere warm, with potential food supplies and water. That wasn't what the Games was. Not that she minded having these relative luxuries, but she was worried about what it would do to her mindset. She could easily slip into a false sense of security and end up dead.

She needed an ally, someone to watch her back when she couldn't. But, more than that, she needed an ally for the sake of human contact. She needed to hear a voice, see a smile, have someone who would tell her that everything would be okay, even when they both knew that it wouldn't. Rufus had told her that no one would turn her down. She wasn't as sure. Most people's first reaction upon meeting another tribute was to fight or run. Talking wasn't usually an option.

She couldn't help but think that having someone with her would make the emptiness feel smaller, like the maze of rooms and corridors wasn't so vast and twisting. As it was, all she could do was put one foot in front of the other and keep on walking, further into the heart of the mansion, or further away from it. She couldn't be sure. She'd have to find somewhere to sleep soon, and that thought terrified her. The moment she closed her eyes, her guard would be down. But she'd have to sleep eventually; she'd be putting herself in more danger if she went without sleep for too long. Tiredness would make her useless.

Cautiously, she nudged a nearby door open, hoping to see a bed or even a sofa behind it. There was neither. With a sigh, she continued along the corridor, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. She'd managed to get both the most and least practical of the girls' costumes. The riding jacket was actually useful, but was negated by the billowing, layered skirts that reached the floor. Most of the girls had short skirts or ones edited for movement. Valkyrie's seemed designed specifically to hinder her. Of course, the boys were at a huge advantage, with their shirts and coats. That wouldn't hurt them at all.

_Valkyrie..._

Valkyrie froze. The voice drifted towards her, so quiet that it could have been in her mind. But it couldn't have been her imagination. There were no sounds in the mansion for her mind to warp into words. It was silent, that was one of things that was so unsettling about the place.

"Hello?" she said, the words little more than a whisper as they left her trembling lips.

There was no reply. The corridor faded in darkness around her, the dim lights doing little. She shook her head, trying to convince herself it was just her imagination.

_Valkyrie..._

The voice came again. Not male, not female, not human. The syllables didn't sound right, each just a noise, but somehow fitting together to make her name.

"Who... Who's there?" Valkyrie said, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

_Valkyrie..._

"Stop it! Stop it now!"

_Valkyrie..._

Then something came out of the shadows. Valkyrie gasped, her shaking hand rushing to her lips. It was Rufus, standing there in the corridor, blood dripping from his head. His eyes were blank, the pupils and irises gone. The colour of his clothes and hair were desaturated and his skin deathly pale, but the blood stood out red and vivid. Valkyrie couldn't look away, though every muscle in her body urged her to run. Rufus was dead, he couldn't be there. Whatever that _thing _was, it wasn't the boy who'd left District Four with her.

_Valkyrie..._

"Stay away!" Valkyrie yelled, trying to make her voice sound stronger than she felt.

The more she looked at the thing, the less real he seemed, and all the more unnerving. He was there but, at the same time, not, like a reflection in a sheet of glass. In one moment he would look as solid as life and nothing more than air. A ghost? No, an illusion, a projection by the Gamemakers to unsettle her.

"You're not real," Valkyrie said. The thing remained still, half in the shadows. "I know that. Rufus is dead. You're just a creation of the Gamemakers."

_Valkyrie..._

"Stop that!"

Suddenly, Rufus's mouth broke into a grin that seemed to tear his face in two, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

_Valkyrie!_

Valkyrie screamed. Breaking free of terror's bonds, she picked up her skirts and ran back along the corridor. She glanced behind her. The ghost was running with powerful strides. It would catch up with her soon. Her foot caught on her dress, almost tripping her, but she carried on going. There was no chance that she could win this race. Her heart beat faster than her footsteps and tears bit at her eyes as she ran.

Another glance behind her. He was there, mere paces away. Valkyrie let out a strangled yelp as she tore her eyes away from him and forced herself to keep running. She had to do something, else he would catch her. She didn't want to know what would happen if he did.

She grabbed the nearest door handle and staggered to a stop. Not allowing herself any time to rest, she threw the door open and darted into the room. Immedietely, she slammed her body against the closed door, wincing as she held it shut.

_Valkyrie..._

The voice wasn't muffled by the door between them. She closed her eyes, which did nothing in the pitch black room, and gritted her teeth as she pushed back on the door. There was a horrible grating sound outside, louder if her ear was against the door. Scratching, clawing at the door, tearing at the wood, but there was no attempt to force it open. Each scrape of claws made Valkyrie's skin crawl. Her tears were cold on her cheeks.

"What do you want?" she pleaded. "Why?"

There was no reply, just the scratching. Cautiously, she stepped away from the door. After a few painful seconds, it stayed shut. The darkness was punctuated only by the sound of the thing attacking the door. Valkyrie groped in the dark for a light, and her finger found the switch. A moment after she flicked it, the lights in the room flickered into life. She flinched away as bright light filled the room. It was completely white, or at least it should have been, most of the furnishings and wallpaper had faded to a sort of cream. A large yet plain bed took up most of the room, a chaste mirror and chest of drawers was the only other furnishings. But Valkyrie barely noticed the rest of the room. Above the bed, a portrait of Rufus hung on the wall. He was wearing the suit he had died in, and a cold look was in his eyes, capturing his personality even in paint.

_Valkyrie..._

"Go!" Valkyrie screamed, eyes fixed on the portrait. "Begone!"

Her eyes widened. As she stared, a tear appeared in the portrait, like the canvas was being ripped by invisible talons. Straight across Rufus's neck. Valkyrie's breath caught in her throat. She half-expected to see blood spill from the wound, but – somehow –it was worse without it. Transfixed, she hardly noticed the scratches behind her fade away to nothing.

Alone in the silence again, Valkyrie sobbed, her entire body aching and shuddering with each new tear. She sunk to the ground, back against the foot of the bed, head buried deep in her hands. Pulling her legs close to her, she just sat there, terror and exhaustion fighting in her mind.

All she could do was wait until dawn.

**

* * *

Let the weirdness commence! And this is only the beginning :) I decided it was time to pick up the pace a bit after a few slow chapters, I don't want you thinking these tributes are safe. So yeah, ghosts and magic powers. In case you can't tell, I'm going for a dark fantasy/horror theme with this fic. I am a fantasy writer at heart, after all :) Sorry if Valkyrie and Raylene's POVs were a bit similar. Also, Raylene's called Raylene from now on, rather than Ray, so I stop getting her muddled up with Rayne.**

**I'm going to take a break from this story for a couple of weeks. I'm definitely not abandoning it, but there won't be another update until April. I really need some time to plan out the plot, seeing as it's getting way too big and complex in my head. It's like I've forgotten that this is a Hunger Games story and I'll have to kill off some characters eventually! I would like it to be less than 150k words, really. So I'm going to get an actual, chapter by chapter plan written out, like I did for Games of the Damned. This could still change, depending on your opinions, but I'd just like a clearer idea of where this is going, until the final eight at least.**

**Also, I'd like some time to edit my novel. As much fun as Until the Last Cannon Fires is, my main writing priority is my original novel, and I've kind of been ignoring it recently. All of the positive comments I've received have encouraged me that people might actually be interested in my writing, so I'm going to press on and try to get it edited.**

**So, until next update, thanks for being awesome readers, and remember to review!**

**Update Question: Love triangles – love 'em or hate 'em?**


	18. Cold Promise

**Sorry if I've spammed your inbox uploading this - the site's being glitchy...**

**Note – I am English. I reference English things and use English terms for things. You've probably noticed that before now, but this chapter is very British. I don't realise while I'm writing it, but there may be a couple of things in here that don't make sense to Americans.**

* * *

_Day 2_

The blurry world gradually sunk into focus as Ellis's eyelids flickered open. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but his tiring day must have eventually caught up with him. His back was against cold floorboards, his limbs ached from the awkward way that he'd slept. Rubbing his head, he eased himself up, leaning back against the dusty pillows of a sofa. Clearly he hadn't been in the best state of mind when chosing where to sleep – the sofa would have made a much better bed than the floor. Maybe he'd started on the sofa and fallen off – a restless night was certainly a possibility. Though if a collision against a hard floor didn't wake him up, that was a bad omen. If he was attacked in the night then he wouldn't have stood a chance. Not that he'd have had much of a chance anyway.

He'd left the Cornucopia empty handed. He hadn't even tried to get anything – everyone was too close together. No matter how quick he was, running for the fountain would have been suicide. Other people hadn't seemed to realise that.

He'd been inside the building when Maggie was killed. The gunshot had cracked through the air, unbelievably loud even through the wall. He'd turned, though he knew he should have run. Then, through the dusty panes of a window, he'd seen Maggie fall. She'd stayed standing for a second as the bullet had torn through her, then she'd crumpled. Like her strings had been cut, she just fell, tumbling to the ground in a mess of lacy skirts and jumbled limbs. Blood had bloomed through the pink fabric of her dress as her friend had screamed. Ellis could only watch. He'd managed to tear his eyes from Maggie's corpse for long enough to glance up into the eyes of Terrana Stoner, who wore a cold smile as she lowered her gun. The gun that had killed Maggie. Then Ellis had run, the initial shock of her death wearing away to sadness.

He sighed, and pulled himself up onto the sofa. Maggie had been the favourite out of the two of them, even though Ellis had got a better score. Maggie had been happy, smily, confident – even he'd liked her. If either of them was meant to die in the bloodbath, it was him. Their district colour had clearly been chosen with Maggie in mind – pink. Now he was left in a frilly white shirt with a pink bow round his neck to match the dress of a dead girl. The sponsors had wanted the shepherdess, not the sheep. But he'd prove to them that the right tribute had survived the bloodbath – he'd make sure of it.

He glanced at the clock that sat on the mantelpiece, its hands still ticking despite the trails of cobwebs draped over them. It was nine o'clock, presumably in the morning. Not that that made much difference. Ellis nudged the curtains open and looked out of the grimy window. The sky was as dark and cloudy as ever, the watery light of the sun only just managing to filter through. It was an arena that was hard to feel at all positive about. Maybe that was a good thing. It was much better to go into the Games expecting defeat rather than victory.

The sound of voices made Ellis jump. Distant voices, muffled by doors and walls, but voices all the same. He strained to hear them. There were two, he thought, but he couldn't be completely sure. Both female, that much was clear. The speakers were making no attempt to be quiet. The sound of Ellis's racing heartbeat filled his ears. He had a good idea of who was speaking, and they were heading towards him.

A door opened somewhere and the voices became clearer, but the exact words were still hard to make out. A harsh laugh cut through the conversation, and Ellis had no doubt about who was approaching. Terrana Stoner, Maggie's murderer.

He looked around quickly, searching for a way out. There were two doors in the room – the one that the Careers were getting nearer to and one leading out into the main corridor. The window seemed almost tempting, until Ellis remembered that he was on the first floor. He didn't want to go anywhere that there was a chance of falling. He should have run out into the corridor, but that would have just delayed things. Terrana would still find him.

His eyes settled on a large, dark wardrobe pushed against one of the walls. His mind told him not to, that it was a stupid idea. The wood could be rotten or the whole thing unstable. He could crash into the ground, trapped inside a dark box until he starved or the Careers found him. Or he could have found a good hiding place. Cursing his own foolishness in advance, he ran over to the wardrobe. His sweaty hands fumbled as he unlocked it and pocketed the brass key.

Before he opened it, he spared a quick glance over at the door. The voices were much closer now, two rooms away at best, just behind the door at worst. Taking a deep breath, Ellis swung the wardrobe door open, and was relieved to see that it was empty. He hurried inside and pulled the door as close to closed as possible, holding onto the hinges to keep in there. He couldn't close it all the way, and he didn't want to. Accidentally locking himself in was not a good idea.

Light seeped in through the gap between the doors, highlighting the dust motes that swarmed in the air. Breaths coming quickly, Ellis leaning in closer, trying to get a decent view of the room. He could only see part of it, including the door to the corridor. The one that the Careers were behind was out of sight. There was a crash as it burst open, and Ellis's breath caught in his throat.

"Nope, no one in here either," came the voice of Terrana, obviously rather annoyed.

"It's because they're all doing to sensible thing and sleeping," said a voice that Ellis recognised as Katarzyna.

Was this it? Were there only two Careers this year? That didn't mean that they were any less dangerous. Ellis was in the same room as the daughters of victors, people who had trained their entire life for a couple of weeks in an arena. He tried to stop himself from shaking.

"Exactly!" Terrana said. "We catch them while their guard's down!"

"And when our reflexes are at their worst," Katarzyna said, stifling a yawn.

"Speak for yourself," Terrana said, coming into Ellis's view.

She wasn't in the black dress that Ellis remembered from the bloodbath. Instead she wore a long suit jacket over a shirt and waistcoat. He could make out an old bloodstain on the shirt, barely concealed by the waistcoat. She was wearing the clothes of the dead, he realised with horror, the clothes of people that she murdered. A rifle was slung across her back and a pistol was rammed into her belt. Another was in her hand, the barrel glistening in the light.

"Well, maybe I wouldn't be so tired if you hadn't put me on watch all night," Katarzyna commented, flopping down onto the sofa where Ellis had been sitting just a few minutes before.

"I needed my sleep," Terrana said. "Don't worry, I'll watch tonight."

They were deceptively normal in the way they spoke, like bickering teenage girls. Which was what they were. As well as trained killers. He wasn't sure if that made them more or less frightening.

Katarzyna stood up and went to inspect her reflection in a mirror. She groaned, and took a multitude of hairpins out of her once-elaborately styled hair. It tumbled down her back in dark waves. She looked amazing in the white dress, and no less dangerous than her ally. A long dagger was strapped to her thigh and she kept another in her hand. There was a splash of blood across the bottom of her skirt, which she had clearly tried to wash off. It had just smudged.

She paused, fingers stopping mid-comb of her hair. She glanced over her shoulder and Ellis froze in the wardrobe. Katarzyna was looking directly at him, he was sure of it. He could have sworn that her brown eyes met his. Her mouth opened slightly, but she turned back to the mirror and continued to adjust her hair.

"You ok?" Terrana asked.

"Eh? Why wouldn't I be?" Katarzyna turned away from the mirror, happy with her hair. Now that she was out of the way, Ellis could see into the mirror. The wardrobe was clearly visible in the glass, the doors obviously slightly ajar. He couldn't see himself though. He breathing in deeply, hopelessly trying to settle his heartbeat.

"Well, now you're done prettifying yourself, let's get a move on," Terrana said. "Those tributes aren't going to kill themselves!"

Katarzyna sighed, then reluctantly nodded, prompting a grin from Terrana. They left the room the way they'd come, and Ellis waited for their voices to fade completely before he slipped out of the wardrobe. His legs were weak beneath him, and his heartbeat was still fast even when he was sure that they were gone. Had Katarzyna seen him? He wasn't sure. But one thing he was sure of was that those girls were dangerous, and they were killers. If they ever found him again, then he was dead. He'd been lucky to have survived that brief encounter. There was no way to make sure he was safe. Unless... No, it was a stupid idea, only a fool would go ahead with it. Even a stupid idea was better than no idea though.

Swallowing his fear, Ellis followed the Careers through the door.

* * *

Ade woke with a groan, almost falling from the bed. It took him a while to remember where he was, then it hit him hard. Of course the arena hadn't just been a bad dream. But waking up in a relatively soft bed with a dusty blanket over him almost managed to fool him that he was at home. Even that hellhole would have been better than the arena. This arena was better than most though, especially with the little complex that he and Jack had found. Attached to the kitchen was a small bedroom with two beds – a plain room but certainly much better than where Ade had been expecting to sleep in the Games.

That reminded him – Jack, his ally. He sat up and looked around the room with bleary eyes. Jack was nowhere to be seen. The sheets on his bed were neat, and his jacket still lay beside it. Maybe he'd run away. Probably a good choice, Ade thought. He wouldn't have trusted himself as an ally. But Jack didn't seem to be the type to run without a word.

Running a hand through his messy hair, Ade swung his legs out of the bed and stumbled to his feet. He slid his shoes on, noticing that the black polish was already scuffed. His waistcoat and tie were crumpled on the floor, and he almost left them there. He had to admit that the waistcoat suited him though. As he loosely tied the red tie, he headed through the door into the kitchen.

Jack was there, standing by the stove as two saucepan's bubbled away. He glanced at Ade over his shoulder.

"Good morning," he called.

"Hey," Ade said, still not quite awake as he headed over to Jack's side. "What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast," Jack said, simply.

Ade gave a bark of laughter. "Breakfast? This is the Hunger Games."

"There are no rules against having breakfast," Jack said. "Do you want coffee?"

"Coffee? We have coffee?"

Jack smiled. "Yeah, I found it in a cupboard, looks like it kept quite well. There's no milk though, are you okay with having it black?"

"Look, we're in the middle of a fight to the death. That I have to have black coffee is the least of my concerns." He pulled a chair up to the table in the middle of the kitchen. "So, what's for breakfast then?"

"Porridge, I think," Jack said, stirring the saucepan. "Or at least oats and water. I'm kind of improvising here."

Ade laughed again. "It just seems a bit weird to be having a meal _here_ that I don't always have at home."

"Could be the last few days of our lives," Jack said. "Might as well live them to the full."

He picked up the smaller of the two saucepans and poured the boiling water into two chipped mugs. The strong smell of coffee drifted towards Ade, a smell that wasn't found much in District Nine. There were only two coffee shops in the whole District, one in the small, richer area near to Victors' Village and another near the heart of the District. Ade wasn't sure if that one even sold coffee though – the one time he'd been there he hadn't been able to finish the cup of hot water and dirt that had been given to him.

He'd liked the other cafe though – he used to go there with his friends sometimes. Nabila had worked there once, though she hadn't kept her job for very long. She'd been fired after deliberately spilling scalding hot coffee over a customer who couldn't keep his hands to himself. Ade missed her, he hadn't realised just how much he would. He missed all of his friends, he missed laughing and chatting about nothing in particular. He missed his grandparents, he even missed his mother, in a strange way. But his father? Ade couldn't be happier to see the back of him.

Brogan had only seen him for a couple of minutes after the reaping. There had been no words of encouragement, just a harsh "You better win." And that was when Ade had realised just how little he meant to his father. He could tell, just by looking into his cold eyes, that Brogan didn't want Ade to return to have his son back. He wanted a victor. He wanted the money. He wanted the fancy house in Victors' Village. If Ade died then it wouldn't be a tragedy, it would be a failure.

Ade was going to make it home, but not for his father's sake. Not a penny of his winnings would go to Brogan. He'd leave his father on the street if he had to.

He shook the bitter thoughts from his mind as Jack placed the coffee in front of him.

"There's sugar in the cupboard if you need any," Jack said amiably.

"I'm fine, thanks," Ade said, cradling the warm mug in his hands.

Jack smiled and returned to the saucepan of what was hopefully porridge. Jack was one of those people it was hard to dislike – Ade had learnt that while aiming a gun at his head. He was friendly, but not in an overly cheerful way. There was something about him that made Ade feel a little on edge though. His friendliness didn't seem forced, but Ade could tell that there was something beneath it, some part of Jack that he was trying to hide. That was normal though – everyone had their secrets. But Ade couldn't look Jack in the eye for very long. Because when Jack looked at someone, it was clear that he really _saw _them. Saw more than the front, more than the bravado, it was like he could see right into someone, know everything. Ade was probably exaggerating – he knew that. Jack was just a good observer, he couldn't read minds. It was still unsettling.

"Turned out surprisingly well," Jack said, settling a bowl of porridge in front of Ade. He sat down on the other side of the table with his own coffee and porridge.

Ade looked down into the bowl and realised how hungry he was. The stuff in the bowl certainly looked and smelt like porridge, the question was whether it tasted like it. But, from the way that his stomach was growling, Ade doubted that he'd really mind.

Ade ate a spoonful. It wasn't the most flavoursome food in the world, but it was warm and filling, with a hint of the honey that ran through it. He'd had much worse food at home.

"It's good," he said, looking up at Jack.

"I'm glad." Jack smiled.

"Do you cook much then?" Ade asked before taking another spoonful.

"I've learnt to," Jack said. "My sister often leaves me to look after her kids, and, well, kids get hungry."

"Your sister?" Ade asked. He didn't particularly care, but he knew that they were more likely to get sponsors for a friendly alliance than a hostile one. Not that they particularly needed sponsors at the moment.

Jack nodded. "Helfy. I've lived with her ever since my parents died. She's got two kids – well, two and a half really. There's another one coming."

"How old is she?" Ade said with a frown.

"Twenty-six?" Jack said cautiously.

"Sorry, it just seems like in the past tributes always have younger sisters."

"Don't worry, she's not fourteen with three kids," Jack said. "Does happen in Twelve though, sometimes." Clearly not wanting to leave the conversation hanging on that note, he asked "What about your family then? Got any siblings?"

Ade shook his head. "Only child, and glad of it. Children are bloody annoying. But I've got a complete set of parents and grandparents, well, my mother's parents at least. I think Dad's are dead. We're not rich, despite what he says, but there's enough money to put food on the table without me having to work."

"If you were in Twelve then you'd count as nobility," Jack said with a half-smile. "By thirteen, everyone's got a job – most of them full-time. You don't get thrown down the mines until sixteen though."

"Is that what you do?"

"Do I look like a miner?" Jack laughed. "Nah, I work in a pub. Not great pay, but it's a job. And I guess it increases my life expectancy a little bit. Or, it did until I was reaped."

"I thought District Nine was bad," Ade commented between mouthfuls of porridge.

"Well, you know the bit of District Twelve that they show during the reapings? That's the nice part."

The rest of the districts blurred into one, but District Twelve always stood out at the reapings. Gaunt faces staring out from masks of coal dust, frail children roped into pens like cattle, litter and filth strewn across the streets. It got worse each year – punishment for a revolution that never happened.

"Nice," Ade said, going for another spoonful of porridge before realising that the bowl was empty. "Thanks for the food. Y'know, it looks like this might not be too bad after all."

"What, the Games? Yeah, I guess this is about as good as we could have hoped for. As long as the water holds out and the Careers don't find us then we'll be fine."

"There's only two of them," Ade said, leaning back on his chair. "One's got knives, one's got guns. We'd be pretty evenly matched."

"I'd just like to stay out of fights really." Jack took a sip of his coffee. "I mean, I think we could win against most tributes – we're a pretty good team, by the looks of it – but I don't want to become a killer. Not yet at least."

"I just want this to be over," Ade commented. "I never _wanted _to kill, but the choice here is kill or die, and I'm sure as hell not going home in a box."

"Fair enough." Jack picked up the empty bowls and carried them over to the sink.

Ade stared at his coffee. "Don't worry, I'll do the killing. You do the cooking and stuff."

"I'll fight if we have to," Jack said. "I'm just not going to go looking for danger."

Ade nodded, but he wasn't sure if he really agreed. There was part of him, the part that he'd always ignored, that told him to shoot Jack and then hunt down the other tributes. He wasn't sure if it was his morals stopping him from listening to the voice, or the fact that he only had four bullets.

* * *

Tay's ring was cold round Sable's finger. It had become heavier since she'd entered the arena, or at least it felt like it. She knew it was impossible – the ring was just a band of metal. She stroked the edge of it with her thumb, hoping to feel comforted. The ring was a symbol of Tay's love for her, something to keep her going in the arena, to remind her of what she was fighting for. That was the idea, at least. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to throw the ring out of the window, to lose it to the eternity outside. Because instead of comfort she just felt regret, felt the burden of the ring weighing her down. Rather than being something to fight for, it was a promise that she couldn't keep. Every time she looked at the ring, she saw the despair that would appear in Tay's eyes when she died. She hated that she was going to do that to him. Even if she did manage to get home, then he'd be marrying a murderer. She'd seen what happened to victors – they were never the same person they were when they went into the arena. She wouldn't come back as the girl that Tay loved.

She slid the ring from her finger and let it lie in the palm of her hand. It would have been so easy to let it fall, to let it lie in the dust. She could just break his heart now, instead of with her death. Perhaps it would hurt less. But, as tears formed in her eyes, her fingers closed round the cold silver band. It was all she had left. She'd hold onto it for as long as she could, just as she held onto the chance, the slight possibility, that she'd return to District Eight and Tay would take her into his arms and forgive her for what she'd become.

She gave a hollow laugh that echoed around the room. It was a nursery, she realised. She'd just wandered in, used to following her feet through the mansion. Discarded toys lay on the floor, china dolls with blank eyes stared from shelves, books of fairy tales sat on the shelves. There was a cot in one corner beside and old rocking chair, and the walls were cream with a pink border. The room felt dead. The toys were buried beneath dust, where they would stay forever.

Sable shivered and rubbed her arms, although the room wasn't that cold. The whole mansion made her feel that way, but the nursery was particularly bad. She looked around the room and could almost hear the laughter of children as they played. The room looked as if they'd just left it, expecting to come back. She shook her head. Hypothetical children, she reminded herself. Children that never had lived, and never would. The only children that would walk the halls of this mansion were the ones destined to die there.

She took a step forward, the wooden floor groaning. Behind her, something clicked. Hurriedly, she glanced over her shoulder, but saw nothing there. With a sigh, she turned back. Then it started. Quiet at first, the mechanical melody of a music box. It was the kind of music that could soothe you to sleep or send chills down your spine. And when it started completely randomly, it was definitely far from soothing.

Sable spun around, looking for the source of the chilling music. Telling herself that her footsteps had somehow managed to trigger a music box somewhere in the pile of toys, she turned away again. The music was a nursery rhyme, she knew that, though the name had slipped her mind. It was slower than she remembered – probably the mechanism of the box struggling after years of disuse. Bells – that was what it reminded her of.

_You owe me five farthings,_

The words drifted towards her and she froze. It was just her mind filling in the words she could remember, she tried to convince herself. But she couldn't bring herself to believe the lie. The voice was dry, barely more than a whisper on the air. Her nails bit into her palm as she tried to force herself to move, but she was shaking too much.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, though it did little to slow her heartbeat.

_When will you pay me?_

"Say the bells of Old Bailey," Sable sang the next line with a wavering voice little more than a whisper. "When I grow rich..." _When I grow rich_, the voice sang with her.

She covered her mouth with her hand, but the voice didn't stop, neither did the tune of the music box.

_When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. _There was no melody to the voice, just the words. No music.

"I do not know," Sable said, the words cracking in her mouth.

She urged herself to run, but she couldn't. Fear held her to the spot. It was like the nursery didn't exist anymore. There was just the voice and the music box, echoing around her skull.

_Here comes a candle_

"To light you to bed."

Sable was vaguely aware of a flicker of orange light.

_Here comes a chopper_

"To chop off your..."

"Look out!"

The shout pulled Sable back into the nursery. It was dark, darker than before, the only light coming from a candelabra on the mantelpiece. Sable spun around just in time to see the axe flying towards her head. She saved her scream until after she'd ducked. With a thunk, the axe embedded itself in the wall as the last note of the music box faded into nothing. Panting, Sable stood up again, wide-eyed gaze flitting around the room. The dolls watched her silently.

It took her a moment to realise who had called out to her. Framed in the doorway, dusty light spilling in around them, were two boys. They seemed as scared and startled as she was. One was the boy from Eleven – it was hard not to recognise him, with his half-black, half-white hair and the scar splitting his face in half. The other was harder to place. Tall and slender with dark hair falling into green eyes. The three of them stood there in silence, unsure of what to say as Sable's pulse pounded in her ears.

"Get out of there," Eleven said eventually.

Sable didn't need telling twice. She ran out of the room on shaking legs and collapsed against the wall in the corridor. Her breathing was quick as she replayed the last few minutes in her head, trying to be sure of what had happened. How much had been real and how much had been in her mind?

"Oranges and damn lemons," she whispered, wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Are you all right?" It was the other boy who spoke as he looked cautiously down at her.

Sable looked up at him. She must have appeared a complete wreck – an eighteen year old hugging her legs to her chest and sobbing. Trying to summon some determination into her eyes, she nodded and climbed to her feet, one hand on the wall for support.

"I suppose you're going to kill me now?" she said.

"We don't have anything to kill you with," the boy said with a shrug.

"We've got a letter opener," Bliric commented.

"If you want to try killing her with a letter opener then go ahead."

"There's an axe in there," Sable said, nodding towards the nursery. She could already tell that the boys weren't going to kill her even if they were armed to the teeth. If they wanted her dead, they wouldn't have called out to her.

"I'd be more likely to hurt myself than you with an axe," the boy said.

"You've got to be able to use an axe, you're from Seven!" Bliric said.

That was who he was – Rayne Lee, from District Seven.

"We've been over this," Rayne said with a sigh.

Bliric looked at Sable and smiled a crooked smile. "I guess you'll be getting away alive then. Sorry about that."

Sable glanced back at the nursery, then at the boys. She bit her lip. "What if I don't want to get away?" She cleared her throat awkwardly. "I mean, maybe I could be your ally. Without you, I'd have an axe in my skull right now, so an alliance kind of sounds like a good idea. Just to have someone watching my back and stuff."

Bliric's smile fell slightly and he looked towards Rayne, who just shrugged. When Bliric didn't look away, Rayne crossed his arms across his chest.

"It's your choice," he said.

"Why?" Bliric hissed. "When did I become leader?"

"Since I decided it," Rayne said.

"Then what do you think?" Bliric asked.

"That a good leader should be able to make his own decisions." Rayne smirked and Bliric rolled his eyes. "Look, we're going to die eventually, regardless of whether she's with us or not. It's up to you."

Sable shot him a glare. "I'm right here, you know."

"I know, I'm not..." Rayne cut himself off, glancing at Bliric.

Bliric turned back to her. "Well... Sable, isn't it? What can you bring to our alliance?"

"An interview," Rayne said. "Nice."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Bliric sighed and looked up at Sable. Any pretence of a smile was gone now. "All I need to know is: can I trust you?"

"You can," Sable said.

"But anyone would say that..." Bliric said, running his fingers through his pale fringe. "There's no way I can tell for sure."

"I'm not a backstabber," Sable said. "You've only got my word for it, but I'd never turn on an ally. I promise."

"Promises mean nothing in the Hunger Games," Bliric said.

"They do," Sable said quietly, then again, louder, "They do. See this?" She held up her hand with the engagement ring. "This is a promise to someone that I'll come home. That promise is all I have any more – the promise that I'll try my hardest to return as the person I was when I left. And that person isn't a traitor."

Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, she lowered her hand.

"Just a yes or a no," she said.

Bliric hesitated, watching her face intently, searching for any sign of a lie. Slowly, he nodded.

"Yes."

Sable beamed at the two of them, and even Rayne smiled reluctantly.

"Thank you," she whispered, her thumb stroking the ring.

It was still cold.

* * *

**So, I'm back! After a break that was quite a bit longer than intended – sorry about that. I'm on holiday now, so I should be updating quite frequently for the next couple of weeks. Also, I'm trying to keep the chapters under 6000 words so I can get them out quicker. If this one felt a little fast in places, that's why.**

**I've planned out this story until the final eight! The bad news (or good news) is that that's twenty-four chapters away, which means that this will be going on for a long time. I hope you continue to enjoy it!**

**In other news, I've finished draft 1.5 of my novel, and need a couple of beta readers. If you want to read some dark modern fantasy, and would give an in-depth critique of it, then just let me know :)**

**Update Question: Who's your favourite alliance at the moment? (there are a few more that need to be formed)**


	19. Painted Eyes

Powder did not become soup when mixed with cold water. It became cold water with icky, frothy gunk floating in it. Key hadn't managed to stomach one sip of it before throwing the rest away and feeling ill for the rest of the evening. Ethine had somehow managed to force down her mug, saying that it was better than nothing. That was the kind of argument that Key would believe when he was starving, not when he still had a Capitolian breakfast inside of him. He'd kept the case of soup though – they'd find hot water eventually. Hopefully.

They were on the move again, Ethine had insisted on it. It was clear that she hadn't slept much in the night, although she claimed that she had done. She was nervous, terrified even, and not doing a very convincing job in hiding it. Key couldn't blame her. They were in the Hunger Games, after all, in an arena that chilled him to the bone. He just had to put that out of his mind. If these were his last few days alive, then he wanted to live them, not spend them cowering in fear.

Key glanced across at Ethine. Dark circles were prominent beneath her blue eyes, and strands of her red hair had drifted from her ponytail and fallen in front of her face. She kept tugging at the hem of her skirt as if it would make it longer, though it was hardly revealing. The dark green fabric fell to her knees, and her legs were covered by opaque white tights. The dress was high collared, fastened round her neck by a ribbon. Combined with Ethine's boyish figure, the cut of the dress made her look about twelve. Not that Ethine was unattractive. She wasn't beautiful, and she wasn't what Key would call pretty either. Maybe she would have been with more makeup, but as she was... Key couldn't think of a word that would do her justice. 'Intriguing' came to mind, but that sounded like a badly hidden insult. 'Alluring' wasn't accurate either.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his and he looked away quickly, trying to make it look like he hadn't been staring at her. She frowned at him and he smiled sheepishly.

"I was just..." He looked at her again, and spotted something in her hand. "Wondering what that book was."

Now that he'd seen it, it genuinely did interest him. He could vaguely remember Ethine taking a book with her, but he'd assumed it was something she'd started reading in the night. The book in her hand was old and beaten, with loose pages jutting out of it and a stained cover.

Ethine's eyes widened slightly. "It's the diary I drew the map in," she said. "I wanted to keep drawing the map, try and help us find our way around."

Key nodded. "Fair enough. Do you want to stop and fill in what we've done so far?"

"I can keep on going and not forget any of it."

"You look like you could do with a break anyway," Key said.

"I'm fine."

"You know, it is okay for you to feel worn out," Key said. "You won't be holding us back. It's not like we've got anywhere to get to."

Ethine glared at him, but he detected a certain thankfulness in her expression that made him smile.

The room that they were in felt very familiar, and Key was almost positive that they'd been there before. Unless, of course, the Gamemakers were very uncreative with their room layouts and made everything into some kind of study. At least it wasn't a corridor. He'd seen enough corridors in the past day to last him a lifetime.

Ethine fell down onto the sofa, rubbing sleep from her eyes. At the click of a button, a lamp flickered into life on a desk in the corner. Key tried to scan the room for any sign that they – or anyone else – had been there before, but his memory wasn't Ethine's. He couldn't see much that set this office apart from the last one. There was one sofa rather than two, there were more bookcases and the desk was smaller, but it still felt like the same room. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair as he glanced back across at Ethine. She was biting her lip, deep in concentration as she studiously continued the map in the back of the diary. Why had she brought the whole book? The map was just on a couple of pages that she'd already pulled out – she could have left the rest of the diary behind.

Key's gaze drifted to the floor beside her feet. A loose page had spilt from the diary and was lying unnoticed on the old floorboards. Key wandered over and picked it up. Ethine didn't seem to notice him though, knowing her, she just couldn't be bothered to look at him. The page felt fragile under his fingers, like it could fall apart at any minute. He frowned as he looked down at it. The page was messy, a streak of spilt ink ran across it, obscuring the writing. Even if the ink wasn't there then the writing would still have been hard to read, scrawling and rushed. Key squinted as he tried to make it out.

_The Baron's Gift – the secret of fire. I have found the secret of the sun, what mankind has searched for since Prometheus brought the first flames from the gods. Without the aid of flint and tinder, the flames will come for me. Just a dust of ground mossroot and faeslip, at the click of my fingers fire will dance. The fire will bend, will twist, will turn with me. Part of me, it cannot burn me, even if the whole world is aflame. This is the power of a god, the power of a demon._

"Ethine..." Key said in a voice barely more than a whisper.

"I'm trying to concentrate," Ethine murmured. "Give me a minute."

Key nodded without a word.

_Sorcerer. That's what she calls me, my wife. I can see the fear as the flames glisten in her eyes. But envy as well, as she watches in awe as the fire bends to my will. She wants to know how it feels, to snap her fingers and create a flame. She won't admit it, won't sink to me. She wants the title of Lady, not Witch. Such trivial things do not matter to me anymore. Why settle for Lord, when I can be God?_

The writing finished there, and Key was glad of it. He just stared at the page, heartbeat rattling in his ears. He'd crushed the edges of the paper in his hands, the parchment cracked beneath his fingers.

"Ethine..." he said again.

"Let me finish," Ethine said, not looking away from the meticulous lines that she was drawing.

"Seriously, you might want to see this."

"What is it?" Ethine snapped, turning to look at him.

"This page... it fell out of the diary..."

Ethine's eyes widened and then suddenly narrowed. "Then it's nothing to pay any attention to. This diary is just the ramblings of a madman."

"But I think... I think that this is about magic."

"Exactly – mad, completely insane." Ethine closed the diary and took the page from Key. "Magic is as real as unicorns. And by that I mean not at all. This is just something that a Gamemaker wrote to make the _fictional_ writer of this diary appear to have completely lost his marbles."

"Why would they put so much effort into it if it didn't mean anything?"

"Someone wrote every single book in this mansion," Ethine said, "Without the intention of ever having their work read. That book was just meant to sit on the shelf and look pretty, probably to be auctioned off after the Games are over."

"Then why did you bring it with you?"

Key grinned when Ethine didn't answer.

"So there might be something in this?"

"Of course not," Ethine said. "I was merely interested in the story, like a novel or something. It's actually very well written, capturing the man's descent from civilised gentleman to lunacy, driven mad by power until he loses everything and everyone that he ever cared about. It's a good read."

"Really? I never imagined you as a fiction person. I thought it would be too illogical for you."

Ethine smiled. "Even I admit that it's sometimes good to engage in a bit of fantasy. Although that should remain on the pages, not manifest as a foolish notion in your mind that magic might possibly exist."

"Anything's possible, it is the Hunger Games after all."

"Even the arena is governed by the laws of physics," Ethine said. "Besides, if magic _did _exist then I'd have thought that this diary would have put you off of it."

"I doubt I'd turn into a power-crazed madman."

"You never know." Ethine shrugged. "Anything is possible after all."

"You can't use the same argument that you just shot down!"

"Unfortunately, physics has no effect on your sanity, Mr Kellik. There's a chance you could go stark raving mad in the blink of an eye with no trigger. A minute chance. As for summoning a fireball out of midair? I'm afraid all logic points to impossible."

"All logic says that people would have realised that murdering children is barbaric after ninety years, but we're still here now."

"As I said, people are strange beings that make no sense whatsoever."

"That's beside the point. Look, can we at least try out the magic thing?"

"If you want to look like a fool," Ethine said with a smirk. "Didn't the diary say that the 'spell' needed reagents, anyway?"

"Mossroot and faeslip," Key said, glancing down at the page.

"Two herbs that I hadn't heard of until training and are supposedly very rare." Ethine looked up at Key, gaze flitting across his face. She sighed and stood up. "Very well. If we can find the obscure herbs, then you can grind them up and click your fingers. Nothing will happen."

"That's what you think," Key said with a smile.

"No, that's what I _know_," Ethine said. "Anyway, I think that's enough nonsense for today. We should get a move on."

"We'll go slow," Key said, nodding in agreement. "You don't want to wear yourself out."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Well, there's no need to hurry anyway." Key picked up the suitcase again. The weight of it still surprised him.

"You know, if you're feeling tired then there's no harm in admitting it." Ethine smiled.

"Yeah – that's it." Key returned her smile weakly.

Ethine picked up the diary and stuffed the fallen pages back into it. She looked around the room quickly before heading towards a door.

"We haven't been this way yet." She glanced back at him. "Don't worry, we'll go slow."

* * *

Raylene woke and was almost surprised at the dried blood that clung to her body. Then she remembered the fight from the night before. The thought of it sent shivers down her spine. It was all too clear in her mind, the creature's scream still rang in her ears. It felt as if mere seconds had passed since she closed her eyes and fell into darkness. She wasn't sure if she'd been sleeping or entirely unconscious.

She blinked as she stared at the ceiling, her flaming hair lying around her on a floor covered in broken glass and blood. There were scratches deep into her palm where she had pulled herself through the window. Cuts criss-crossed over her arms and legs and blood had bloomed beneath the jagged tears in her dress. None of it truly hurt, just buzzed as a dull ache across her skin, when she was still. At even the slightest movement, it flared up into horrendous pain, making her slam her eyes shut and grit her teeth against it. But she was going to have to move eventually and, when that came, she would endure the pain.

She couldn't tell how long she'd been asleep; she only knew that it had been quite a while. Cold light drifted in through the shattered pane of the window, illuminating the room for the first time. When she'd dragged herself into the shack it had been pitch black, with only the dim glow of the moon to give her any idea of where she was. Now, she saw it clearly. The wooden walls were old and rotting in places, part of the roof had fallen in, letting the light shimmer down onto her face. An array of axes and hatchets lined the walls, their blades catching the light. A dank, musty smell hung in the air around her.

Slowly and oh so carefully, Raylene eased herself up into a sitting position, trying to push the pain out of her mind. From sitting, she managed to stand, pain tearing through her as she stretched a long cut on her thigh. Each step sending another wave of agony, she headed towards the door. She didn't know what she hoped to find outside. Hopefully just some evidence that it hadn't been her imagination that had left her cut and bleeding. Though if the... thing that had pursued her through the orchard was there then she didn't know what she'd do. As a precaution, she took an axe in her hand, used to the weight of it from her work in the lumber yards.

She slid the rusting latch on the door open and the door groaned, threatening to tear down the shed, as she eased it open. The wind whipped through her hair, stinging her wounds. It wasn't a particularly cold breeze, but it felt like it should have been.

At first, she didn't see it. The orchard seemed to be the same clutter of twisted trees that she had seen before. Then she looked down. Lying beneath the broken window was... something. Like a pool of night, pitch black and formless, reflecting a little of the light as it clung to the ground. It was about the size of a man, but had nothing of the shape. The handle of an axe jutted out of it. Raylene stopped and stared at it. That was it, the thing she'd ran from. It was like tar, with no sign that it could ever have moved or lived.

Against her better judgement, Raylene cautiously walked over to it. Her hand closed round the handle of the hatchet. The stuff clung to it, reluctant to release the blade, but she managed to tear away. There were still scraps of the black on the blade. Slowly, Raylene reached towards it with a shaking hand. She drew her hand away almost as soon as she touched it. It was as cold as ice, almost freezing her fingers at the slightest of contact. She dropped the axe and looked back at the thing's corpse, if it could be called that, as she tried to rub some warmth back into her fingers. That was definitely what had chased her – she remembered the cold grip on her ankle as she'd struggled her way through the window.

For some reason, the thing intrigued her. Completely lifeless, with no sign that it should ever have been anything more than a puddle, but she was positive that it had been alive – and deadly – just a night ago. Wincing, she crouched down beside it, picking up the axe again. As her teeth bit into her lip, she reached towards the remains with the handle of the hatchet. Gently, she poked at it and felt the axe suddenly grow cold against her palm. Some of the stuff half-heartedly stuck to the hatchet, but she could pull it away with no struggle at all.

She glimpsed something amongst the endless black. A sharp little light, like a star in the night sky. Swapping which hand she held the hatchet in, she prodded at it, folding away some of the creature to get a better look. Lying against the tarry substance was what looked like a needle – long, sharp, thin and glistening white. As she pushed back more of the stuff she found more of them, dozens of them hidden among the darkness. Not needles, she realised. Teeth.

She threw the hatchet in the air and caught it again, this time holding the blade out towards the corpse. Quickly and precisely, she slid the axe beneath a tooth and flicked it out of the mess, catching it on the blade. It rolled, threatening to fall back to the creature it had come from, but she tilted the blade slightly to steady it. Some of the black still clung to it, the formless gums that she had torn it from, but the tooth was surprisingly clean, reflecting the sunlight clearly and crisply.

Raylene reached towards it, gently touching the tip with her finger. It broke through her skin and she hastily dropped the tooth and axe as she snatched her hand back. That thing was devilishly sharp, and there had been loads of them hidden within the 'flesh'. If she'd let herself be caught by the creature then she'd have ended up looking like a pin cushion, if she hadn't frozen to death first. That was a nasty mutt, especially for the first night.

She sucked on her finger and spat the blood onto the creature's remains. It wouldn't scare her again. She knew what it was now. If there were any other things like it, waiting for nightfall, then she would be ready for them.

* * *

Serene gasped and her hand rushed to her mouth as she saw the portrait. On the wall above the four-poster bed was a painting. A painting of her. It was almost like a photo, a photo of something that had never happened. The her in the picture had a regal expression as she looked out of the elaborate frame. The dress in the picture was even fancier than the one Serene was wearing. It was made of green velvet with a figure-hugging bodice covered in golden embroidery and a billowing skirt. The painted Serene's hair was pulled back into a style Serene couldn't make head nor tail of, and littered with gold and pearls. Serene couldn't stop staring at it, like some reflection in a bizarre mirror. There was something captivating in the portrait's shining blue eyes, a strange beauty that the real Serene couldn't hope to replicate. Someone in the Capitol had painted this – with only a few days to do so after she'd been reaped. Had it been chance that she'd stumbled into this room, or had someone hung the painting during the night, knowing that she'd find it? Either way, it scared her. She found herself intimidating, in a way. There was nothing _wrong _with the picture. It was her. But it wasn't.

Shaking against her will, she tore her eyes away from it and looked around the rest of the room. She was about a corridor away from the great hall where she'd spent the night beneath a table. Damien had taken a different corridor to explore, to collect supplies and the like. Before finding the bedroom, Serene's best discovery had been some dusty old bandages in a cabinet. The bedroom was an incredible find – the bed was large and soft, much nicer than what she was used to. The room was big, but not too big. There was only one door in, and the only other way out was the window. It was perfect for what she needed – somewhere to sleep where she wouldn't wake with back ache from the tiled floor. But then... there was that portrait. She couldn't let it put her off, it was put there specifically to unsettle her, she was sure of it.

She turned away from it and looked away from the bed. On the other wall hung a mirror, reflecting just one of the portrait's piercing blue eyes at the very edge of the glass. In front of the mirror sat a dressing table, flanked on either side by chests of drawers. A jewellery box lay open on the table, gold and jewels spilling out of it. It all looked so expensive – there wasn't a single corner of the room where she could look and not see grandeur. Gold leaf snaked its way around the walls and the ceiling was carefully patterned. All of the gold made the room seem to glow, despite the thin trickle of light drifting past the curtains being the only light source. It felt like a room that should be watched by the portrait of a queen, not one of her.

Serene walked over to the mirror and looked through the jewellery box. In this single box was more wealth than any person in District Six could make in their lifetime. The thought made her angry, but she still looked through the gems and gold, fascinated by it like any girl who'd once dreamed of being a princess. The piece that caught her attention was one of the least fancy. A golden locket, a delicate filigree heart woven on the front. She pulled it out of the box, holding onto the thin golden chain. It didn't take much effort to prise it open. When she did, her heart skipped a beat and she felt the same way she had when she'd seen the portrait. She was looking at herself again on one side of the locket, a smug smile on the picture's face very uncharacteristic of its wearer. Opposite her was Damien. She quickly snapped the locket shut, glancing up at herself in the mirror to see a pink blush on her cheeks. Why? Why would any of the Gamemakers have put her in a locket with _him_? They were allies, but she didn't know how much longer that would last. Certainly not long enough for her to want him to sit opposite her in a metal heart.

She dug deep into the jewellery box and placed the locket right at the bottom. She didn't want Damien to find it. Her hand paused before she pulled it from the box. Lying underneath the locket's golden chain was a faded envelope sealed with red wax. Carefully, Serene eased it from the box and flipped it over. _Serene Asire _was written on the other side in black ink. Her already fast heartbeat quickened. Was this whole room about her?

Tentatively, she broke the seal and the wax crumbled away from the envelope. She half expected to find another picture of her inside the envelope, but instead it contained a letter. Frowning, she placed the envelope down beside the jewellery box and unfolded the old parchment. The writing was almost too neat in a slanting way that made it difficult to read.

_Serene Asire,_

_I knew that you would find this letter eventually. I could have sent this and the gift it contains to anyone, but I chose you. You will believe me when I say that you will be thankful. But why did I choose you, little Serene? It's because you're weak. Though you're not. At the moment, it feels like you should be dead. You are still alive not because of your own merits but because of your allies. I should have given up on you, left your ghost to wander these halls for eternity. Clearly I didn't, or you wouldn't be reading this. I can see that there is more to you, Serene, more than this scared little girl hiding in a boy's shadow. And I want to see that other side of you. So, Serene, I shall grant you the power to cast away that shadow, to cast away every shadow, if you so desire it. What I am offering you, Serene, is a gift unrivalled by any other. A gift that, if used wisely, will make you the mistress of this mansion. _

_If you decline this offer, Miss Asire, then you are a fool and deserve whatever fate this manor unleashes upon you. All that I ask for in return is a drop of your blood, in place of a signature._

_I look forward to meeting you,_

_The Baron_

Serene stared at the letter, fear and anger fighting inside of her. How could this Baron judge her like that? According to his letter, she should be dead. For anyone to wish that fate on someone else, merely for being frightened in a situation where fear is justified, was barbaric. Then again, there was a creeping feeling that the opinion in the letter was the opinion of sponsors outside of the Games. Maybe the Baron was her saviour, offering her a second chance when everyone else had given up on her. Offering her... what, exactly?

The letter didn't make the 'gift' clear, just that it was something that would put the odds in Serene's favour. The gift to cast away shadows, to become ruler of the arena? It sounded like something she couldn't turn down. But the price for it was blood. She didn't know who she was making a deal with, or what the deal was even for. Even if it was for nothing, then surely a little cut on her finger was worth a chance at winning?

More confidently than she'd have expected, Serene closed the jewellery box and placed the letter on the lid before drawing her knife. Biting her lip, she held out her hand and edged the knife towards it. The blade touched her skin and she pressed down, but not hard enough to draw blood. As her breathing quickened, she drew the knife back. She was going to do this, she was going to prove to Panem that she wasn't a coward. Ramming her eyes shut, she quickly drew the knife across her finger in a clean cut.

The pain was delayed, as if her body was in shock from what had just happened before registering it. She had time to open her eyes and watch the first of the blood seep from the wound before the pain stabbed in. It was a stinging, throbbing pain that felt like her heart was beating in the cut. Stifling a cry and biting back tears, she swiped her finger across the letter. The rough parchment agitated the cut, making it even sorer as she left a jagged trail of blood behind her. She pulled her hand back quickly and sucked on the wound, trying to ease the pain as the saltiness of blood reached her tongue.

Then the pain was obscured by what happed on the parchment. The blood spread out, mixing with the ink, turning each letter a strange dark reddish-brown. Then the letters swirled together into a pool of blood and ink in the centre of the page. All Serene could do was watch as the ink rearranged itself into a new word in the centre of the page.

_Lumina_

The word vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, returning to the spiral of ink before disappearing altogether. Serene stood there, breaths quick, waiting for something else to happen. She needed to see something, to feel different. Instead, all she had was a blank sheet of paper and a hurting finger. She swore under her breath, cursing the Baron, whoever he really was. Though, she had to admit, nothing was better than the whole thing turning out to be a trap and leading to her death.

She'd spent enough time in the bedroom, she needed to find Damien and tell him about her discoveries, leaving out the incident with the letter. Before leaving, she glanced up at the mirror, catching a glimpse of one of the portrait's eyes. Except now, it didn't look that different from her own.

* * *

**I'm so so sorry that this chapter took so long to write. I really don't know why it did, but I just seemed to only be able to write in 200 word chunks. If it seems a bit disjointed, then that's why. I guess my mind is still in 'original fiction' mode :( I was meant to get this chapter up on Wednesday…**

**Anyway, it's more of a build-up chapter than anyone else, and the shortest arena one yet (which makes it even worse that I didn't get it out on time). I'm sorry Raylene's section was so short, but it was basically a continuation of her last POV and I didn't want to drag it out for too long.**

**Oh, and if you haven't already, forget pesky things like the laws of physics or logic when reading this fic. Just assume future technology = magic :)**

**I'll try to get the next chapter out sooner, I promise!**

**Update Question : Which tributes do you think are going to get some form of magic ability?**


	20. Sparks

"There's a girl by the well."

Jack looked up from his game of solitaire to where Ade was looking out of the window. The kitchen looked out directly onto the garden, giving a clear view of it. Slowly, Ade drew his revolver and took a step back. Careful to not make any noise, he raised the gun and aimed it towards the window, tilting his head to one side to help with the aim.

"How much do you think glass will slow down a bullet?" he asked.

Jack's eyes widened. "You can't just shoot her!"

"Why not?" Ade growled. "Hunger Games, Jack, killing's got to start at some point." With a click, he readied the gun.

"Yeah, but..."

"What?" Ade snapped. "Stop trying to talk me out of killing people when I've got a clean shot!"

"Don't you think it's a bit morally wrong, just shooting her when she's got no idea what's happening?"

Ade shrugged, then readjusted his aim. "Don't you think this whole concept is a bit morally wrong?"

Frowning, Jack walked over to the window to get a good look at Ade's victim before he put a bullet in her head. Holding back her skirts as she struggled to draw water from the well was Valkyrie Pyre. The last time Jack had seen her had been in the tunnels before they entered the arena. He could remember thinking that the next time they saw each other, they'd be trying to kill each other. He'd never have thought that it would actually come down to that though.

"Don't shoot," Jack said quietly.

"Why not?" Ade hissed. "This whole 'kill to stay alive' thing has really gone over your head, hasn't it?"

"But she could be useful! She got a good score."

"Yeah, so it's good to get rid of the competition."

Jack looked back out at where Valkyrie stood. Her hair was messy and her eyes were tired, she certainly didn't look like a threat. Three of her fingers on her left hand were bandaged – he'd never noticed that before. She was looking around frantically, in case there was someone else in the courtyard. Somehow, she missed the cold-eyed boy aiming a gun at her.

"I still think that she could be a valuable ally."

"Of course you would," Ade snapped, turning to Jack with an annoyed expression. "Look, I've already got more allies than I want."

"We need a token girl."

"We don't _need _anyone! You want her here, for some unknown reason." Eyes still on Jack, he turned back to the window and aimed the gun again. "You don't have to watch, if it upsets you so much."

"Just think about..."

"Don't try your mind games again! I'm not having you take another kill from me."

Jack sighed and turned away as Ade peered down the barrel of the gun. He hesitated, waiting for another objection from Jack. When one didn't come, he smiled smugly.

"Good choice."

His finger reached for the trigger.

"Pretty, isn't she?" Jack said solemnly, leaning back against the wall. "One of the better looking girls in the arena, in my opinion."

Ade groaned. "Stop it."

"I'm sure you'd like the Games a lot more if there's something nice to look at. I don't think I really fill that role."

"I'll shoot you instead if you really want me to."

"Her mum's ill, you know, that's what she said in her interview. Valkyrie's the only one that can look after her, _and _she's got three siblings to provide for."

"The fact that you remember all of this is..."

"Her favourite colour's purple, she has a raspberry allergy that once landed her in hospital for two weeks. She likes to read trashy romance novels, when she's got the spare time. What with work and having to support her family she's got very little of that. And in that gun there is a bullet. A cold, hard lump of metal that can take all of that away."

Ade's finger trembled by the trigger, then his gaze, and the gun, fell downwards. "I honestly hate you, you know that?"

Jack grinned. "I'm sure you do."

"She probably won't even want to be allies with us," Ade said, looking back up out of the window.

Jack shrugged. "It's worth a try. If she doesn't then it's not like she's armed."

"Fine." Ade straightened his waistcoat. "But if she says no then that's it. No more persuasion from you and a bullet for her."

"Agreed," Jack said.

Ade sighed, shot Jack another glare and headed out of the door, gun in hand. Jack was about to follow him out, but hung back in the doorway. If he went with Ade then Ade would definitely find something to accuse him of, and he was more than angry enough already. If Valkyrie didn't say yes then Jack had no doubt that Ade would follow through his promise to shoot her. Jack didn't really want to see that close up.

Valkyrie didn't seem to notice Ade as he walked through the overgrown vegetable patch towards her, she was preoccupied with trying to get the well to work. Jack was glad that the taps in the kitchen weren't broken, the well seemed very uncooperative. There was water in it though, which supposedly would make all of the effort worth it. Ade glanced back at Jack, confused annoyance in his expression. Jack smiled and gestured towards Valkyrie. With a sigh, Ade turned back to her and cleared his throat.

Valkyrie spun around and threw a well aimed punch into the side of his head, sending him sprawling across the patio. Surprised at herself, she gasped and raised her hands to her mouth, staring at Ade with wide eyes as he scrambled to his feet.

"I wasn't going to kill you!" Ade groaned, clutching at his head. "But you're making me reconsider that..."

"What he means to say is," Jack called from the doorway and Valkyrie jumped at the sound of his voice. "Do you want to come in for coffee?"

Valkyrie stared at him, a look of absolute confusion on her face.

"Or are you more of a tea person?" he added.

Valkyrie blinked, then looked dazedly between Jack and Ade, trying to work out what was going on. With an exasperated sigh, Ade grabbed her hand and pulled himself up from the ground. Valkyrie yelped, finding herself pulled forward as she tried to stay upright. Ade was a good deal taller than her once stood up.

"What's happening?" Valkyrie asked as Jack walked towards the well.

"We wanted to know if you wanted to be our ally," Jack said.

Valkyrie glanced at Ade, who's expression could be described as irritated at best. She bit her lip.

"Why would you want that?" she asked.

"You got a seven, didn't you?" Jack said. "I thought that you were going to go with the Careers, to be honest."

"So did I, for a while." Valkyrie rubbed her arm.

"We could be like the 'anti-Careers'," Jack said with a smile. "Three of the best district kids."

"There's only two Careers, you don't need me..."

"For God's sake," Ade cut in, "stop being so down on yourself. You're good, you know it. So just answer the damn question – allies or not?"

Jack really hoped that she didn't notice Ade readying the gun at his side.

"I... I..." Valkyrie looked back at Jack. "I do... I'm just not sure why you..."

"Because we can see that you'd be good," Jack said. "You'd balance out our team quite well. I couldn't throw a punch as well as you just did. We need, well, a fighter. I use knives, but I'm super squishy – all it takes is one hit and I'm down. Ade's ranged – he just shoots stuff."

"And you think I could be your fighter?" Valkyrie asked, looking up at him quizzically.

"Yeah, I do," Jack said. "I remember seeing you in training. You're pretty strong, and not half bad with some weapons. We'll find a way to get you armed."

Valkyrie blushed at the compliments. "Allies, then." She smiled, as if she didn't quite believe it.

"Great," Ade said, looking up from the dirt that he'd been scraping off his waistcoat. "Now, new rule for the alliance. This is it. Next time we meet someone, we fight, or we run, if we have to." He looked towards Jack. "No more niceness."

"Agreed," Jack said. "I'll let you shoot first and ask questions later."

"Just don't ask the questions at all," Ade said. "That'll bring things like morals into all this." He looked at Valkyrie. "Please don't tell me that you're a pacifist as well."

Valkyrie shook her head. "Not if the alternative is dying."

"Good. Because we need to start acting like this isn't the Hunger Games. Just because we have coffee doesn't stop this from being an arena."

"Wait, you actually have coffee?" Valkyrie asked.

Ade smiled. "You thought we were joking?"

"There's plenty of food," Jack said. "As long as you're okay with preserved stuff. And there's vegetables out here, under all of the weeds. It's quite a nice set up that we've got here."

"If it lasts," Ade said.

"Positivity, Ade, try it some time," Jack said.

"I prefer realism," Ade shot back.

"Anyway..." Jack turned back to Valkyrie. "Welcome to the alliance, I guess."

Valkyrie smiled. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Don't get too settled in, Val," Ade said. "If you don't prove to be useful then..."

"I'll be useful," Valkyrie said, clenching her hands into fists. "And it's Valkyrie, not Val."

Ade looked a little taken aback, then smiled weakly at her. "Well, Valkyrie, you better pull your weight."

"And so should you," Jack said. "Anyway – coffee?"

* * *

"So, what do your parents do?" Key asked as they walked down the corridor.

"They're scientists," Ethine said. "My mother works in a lab and does a lot of work with District Six, researching medicine and prosthetics. My father works with genetics, and goes to the Capitol a lot. His work there is strictly confidential, though I have reason to believe it's to do with mutations."

"What makes you think that?" Key asked.

Ethine glanced at him. He'd been asking her questions for a while now, trying to get her to open up, probably. It took her a while to answer in more than a sentence, but Key's interest in her was somehow settling. She felt more relaxed and at ease in the mansion than she had done before. That may not have been sensible, but it made a welcome change to the sense of impending doom that had been following her since she emerged in the courtyard. "Just things," she replied. "He's become much more interested in animals recently. Once he got me to sit out in the garden and keep a record of all of the birds I saw, and note down any of their interesting features."

"Maybe he's just likes bird-watching. He could be a nature lover?"

Ethine gave a sharp bark of laughter. "When someone worships technology like my father does, they are severely unlikely to love the very thing that he has defeated."

"What a positive way to look at things."

"It's the truth." Ethine said. "Anyway, I've probably said too much about a job that's meant to be private."

Key laughed. "Probably." He rubbed the back of his neck. "What's your opinion on mutts, by the way?"

Ethine shrugged. "I don't really have one. The ethical issues don't mean very much to me – I don't see why we shouldn't kill a couple of mice if it means making our lives better. Mutts just seem purely self indulgent, though."

"I guess you see more of them in Five than we do in Three."

"Yeah, a few rich people have them as pets, though they're mostly kept in labs. A mutt rat managed to escape once and caused havoc by breeding with the normal rats. Spread all kinds of diseases around the district. It's not like the Capitol though, from what I saw they're everywhere."

Key nodded. "Do you think there are many of them in the arena? I can imagine there being some quite creepy ones..."

"Creepy's the right word," Ethine said. "I think we're safe from rampaging tigers when they've put this much effort into building up an atmosphere." She ran her finger along the wall, leaving a line in the dust.

"Ghosts and stuff then? Could be interesting. As long as they don't show up around us that is."

Ethine stopped in her tracks, looking at the door ahead of her. "It's a dead end."

"Well, not really. It's the end of the corridor."

He walked over to the door. It looked older than the rest of the mansion, the warped wood untreated and gnarled. He tried the handle and frowned when it didn't open. Ethine went to his side and crouched down to the level of the handle, peering through the keyhole. She could only see darkness beyond. She stood up again, turning to Key.

"You're a locksmith, aren't you?"

"Son of a locksmith," Key corrected her.

"Yes, but you understand keys and locks and stuff?"

"The clue's in my name," Key said with a smile. "But I can't just forge a key that'll fit."

Ethine looked up at him, her eyes settling on a cord round his neck. At the end of it hung an old key, partially obscured by his jacket.

"What's that?" she asked, nodding towards it.

"What's what? Oh, that's a key," he said, turning it over in his hand.

"I can see that."

"It's my token, the first key I ever made. That's why it's not very good."

Without warning, Ethine grabbed the key and pulled it towards the door. Key yelped as she dragged him forward and tried the key in the door.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed. "It's not going to open!"

Ethine bit her lip and forced the key into the lock, twisting and turning it despite Key's protests.

"It opens the door to my room," Key explained, giving up struggling. "It's not going to open that..."

He was cut off by a click as the key turned in the lock. Ethine smiled smugly and released the key. Key stood up, rubbing his neck where the cord had bit in.

"How... how did..?"

"I looked at the mechanism," Ethine said simply. "It was a bit dusty so I didn't have a clear view, but I could get a general idea of it. That key looked like it might fit, and it did."

"I... that's..." Key cleared his throat. "You could have asked first." He looked down at the key again. "How did that happen? I made this key when I was eight." He ran his thumb over the key, tracing the familiar surface.

"Are you sure it's your key?" Ethine asked.

"Yeah, I've carried it for most of my life, I'd know if it had been changed."

"They must have taken it then, at some point," Ethine said. "Interesting, using tributes' tokens as a mechanism in the Games."

"You think that they've done things with other people's tokens then?"

"It would be favouritism to just use yours."

"What would they do with your cube though?"

Ethine shrugged. "I'm not a Gamemaker."

She reached towards the door and tentatively pushed down on the handle. The door groaned open, snapping the chains of cobwebs that had tied it to the frame. With no windows, the room beyond was dark. Ethine could vaguely make out the shapes of shelves and desks, but their contents remained invisible.

"Well, we better go in," Key said. "Someone clearly wanted us to."

Ethine nodded, and took a shaking step into the darkness. The floor boards groaned beneath her as she passed through the doorway and a chill wind ran over her skin. She brought her other foot forward and the room flickered into light. Three candelabras, each on a different desk, burst into flame, the candles casting a warm light that still felt inexplicably cold. Ethine breathed in sharply, looking around the room with wide eyes. It was a laboratory. Jars and bottles of herbs and poultices were stacked on the shelves, flanked by battered leather tomes. Behind her was a glass-fronted cabinet full of dusty jars. She squinted to focus, and recoiled as she saw the preserved corpses of animals floating in some unknown liquid. On a desk in the centre of the room were open books and scattered herbs, like someone had abandoned their work in a hurry. Ethine felt herself quivering as she looked at the place, and slowly backed away through the door.

Key placed a hand on her shoulder. "Wait."

"Let's go," she said quietly.

"What were those ingredients in the diary?"

"It's nonsense, Key."

"You said we could try it, if we had the chance. This seems like as good a chance as any."

Ethine closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. "Mossroot and faeslip," she said reluctantly.

"Thanks," Key said with a warm smile and edged past her into the laboratory.

Ethine watched as he looked through the shelves, supposedly unfazed by the room. He pulled down a bottle, examined the label and returned it to the shelf before doing the same with the next one. Ethine swallowed and walked over to the desk, looking at the book that lay open in front of her. This was a laboratory from before science, when people still believed in magic. The book was about alchemy, not chemistry, and most of it was nonsense.

"Here."

Ethine turned to see Key walking towards her with two jars of ground herbs. She rolled her eyes.

"It's not going to work."

"My key shouldn't have opened that door."

"That doesn't prove anything."

He set the reagents down on the desk, looking at them cautiously.

"Aren't you going to try it then?" Ethine said. "We might as well get this over and done with."

Key nodded, unscrewing the lid of one of the jars. He reached in towards the powder, but his hand hovered above the surface. Ethine looked at him questioningly.

"What if it is real?" Key asked. "What if that actually does make fire?"

"Then I'll probably owe you an apology."

"No, I mean..." Key cleared his throat. "You read the diary. You saw what magic did to that man."

"Good thing it's not real then."

"But what if it is? What if I used it and the power gets to my head? What if I became that man, with his delusions of grandeur? I'm not sure if I..."

"Give it here," Ethine said, annoyed at Key's musings.

She pulled the jars towards her and took a pinch of each of the herbs, sprinkling the powder into the palm of her hand. She looked up at Key.

"What now?"

"The diary said to click your fingers."

"Let's try that then."

She flicked her hand and the powder was flung out in front of her. Immediately, she clicked her fingers. After a moment's delay, the air before her burst into flame. Ethine stared at it in disbelief and Key swore quietly, backing away from the fire as it hung in the air. Ethine's heart was in her throat, racing as she looked beyond the flames to where they were reflected in Key's eyes. She moved her hand slightly, and the flames moved with her. Just as the diary had said.

"That's... that's impossible," she whispered.

She spun her hand and the fire rotated in midair.

"There must be an explanation for this," she said, to herself more than to Key. "Science, not magic. Magic's not real. It might just be a trick of the light."

But as she felt the fire's heat on her face, she knew that that was a lie.

"It's real..." Key said, just as amazed as she was.

She lowered her hand, hoping to extinguish the flame. Instead it sailed down to the floor, a miniature comet heading towards the earth. It hit the floorboards, spreading like water. For a moment, Ethine thought it wouldn't burn, but then the fire caught on the old wood. She stared at it, still feeling like she was dreaming, until it struck her that she was in a burning room. With a shriek, she jumped backwards. Her eyes met Key's over the flames, panic in both of them.

"Put it out!" she said, looking frantically around the room.

"Water," Key said. "There must be some somewhere."

Ethine's gaze was locked on the flames as they grew. "Quickly."

Key bit his lip and spun around, looking over the shelves for something, anything to exhaust the flames.

"I think..." he began.

"Don't think, do!"

With a quick glance back at her, he opened the cabinet behind him, grabbing one of the larger jars out of it. The liquid inside bubbled and sloshed around as he ran towards the fire. Inside the jar was some kind of creature, but Ethine couldn't quite make it out. Key struggled with the lid, trying to prise it off of the jar, but it held fast.

"Don't bother," Ethine said, trying to remain calm as the flames grew.

"Let's hope this works."

Key dropped the jar. It shattered as it slammed into the floor, drowning the fire. The flames hissed into steam as they were doused, leaving the body of a long-dead mole lying on the shards of glass, surrounded by liquid. Ethine was aware of her shallow breathing as she looked down at it.

She looked up at Key, whose startled expression gradually morphed into a smile.

"So, where's that apology?" Key said.

Ethine slowly smiled. "Sorry that I didn't believe you."

"Magic," Key said. "We've got magic!"

"So it would seem," Ethine said, looking back at the mole.

Key paused before saying. "We could win this."

Ethine moistened her lips. "Yeah. Maybe."

She still couldn't believe what had happened. She'd made fire, she'd controlled fire. Fire that shouldn't exist. It's science, she reminded herself, it had to be. Some kind of advanced technology that the Capitol had invented. It must be possible, it had just happened. Everything she knew – everything she _thought_ she knew – told her that she must have been dreaming. Had the line between science and magic really become so blurred that even she couldn't see it?

She had to accept that it was real. However it had happened, she had summoned those flames from just a pinch of powder. She'd felt powerful, as much as she hated to admit it. She hadn't realised it until after the fire had been extinguished but she'd certainly felt a rush of adrenaline when she saw those flames first appear. Even when all that remained of them was the moist carcass of a mole, her heart was still pounding in her chest.

She wanted to click her fingers again, wanted the flames to dance for her. She didn't know if that thought should scare her or not.

* * *

**Sorry for another short, late update :( This one was driving me mad, as these scenes kind of define the rest of the plot. I'm still not happy with how I wrote Valkyrie – I'm really sorry about how I wrote her this chapter. This was only two scenes as well... I'll make sure to put four in the next one.**

**Also, sorry to bring more bad news, but my AS levels have crept up on me, and kind of need more attention than fanfiction, as they will determine the rest of my life. Okay, that's a scary thought... But anyway, I probably won't update again for another few weeks. I'm so sorry about all these delays, I really want to tell this story :(**


	21. Storm

The planets twisted above Robin as she lay on her back. It was oddly calming, the rhythm to which they danced around the metal sun, with just the mechanical ticks and whirs of cogs to accompany them. She didn't know how long she'd lain there for – the movement of the planets was almost hypnotic, lulling here back to sleep. Some of them spiralled high above her, others swooped down low so that they almost stroked her nose. Beyond the planets, she caught glimpses of the sky above through the glass half of the dome – the turbulent clouds distant. It was her own little world inside of the bubble, away from the rest of the arena. She'd tied the key round her neck, using the ribbon that was the only reminder she had of District Nine. There was no other way into the astrolabe – she was safe.

Safe from attacks, at least. In all of her exploration, she'd forgotten that there were other things that could kill her. Hunger, thirst, the basic things that were needed to survive. It was the thirst that she had to worry about. She'd been hungry before – she knew how to deal with that, but there was always water. It had caught up with her already – the dryness in her throat, scratchy from breathing the same air over and over. She'd found an old flask in one of the desks, filled with stale water. She'd tried drinking some of it, but had gagged and spat it back out. Water like that might have eased her thirst, but she was sure that she'd have got some kind of illness if she'd drank any of it. She'd poured the rest away, wincing as she saw the water tumble over the edge of the roof, but she didn't want to have to resort to drinking it. The flask hung by her hip – if it rained then she'd want to have something to keep the water in.

Something hit against the roof, making Robin jump. She leapt to her feet, dodging out of the way of a planet as she looked at the ceiling. Through the glass, she could see something sprawled on the roof. A small parcel, attached to a flimsy silver parachute. It took her a moment to realise what it was. A sponsor gift! Someone thought that she had enough of a shot at winning that they were willing to spend their money on her. The thought warmed her, making a seldom seen smile break out on her lips. She fumbled at the key round her neck, unlocking the door to the astrolabe. As she stepped out onto the roof, a strong blast of air hit her, spinning her skirts around her and whipping her golden hair against her face. The wind echoed in her ears and made her eyes water. She'd been completely oblivious to it when she was inside of the dome – she'd been expecting to walk out into the same calm air that she'd climbed in.

Pushing her hair away from her face, she looked up at the dome to see the parachute sliding down the edge of it, heading towards the roof tiles. Gritting her teeth, she sprinted towards it, holding her dress out of the way with one hand. She skirted round the edge of the astrolabe, a small wall on her left keeping her away from the edge. The parachute tumbled from the roof, falling over the parapet. Cursing, she ran round to the glass side and peered over the edge. The parachute was caught round the neck of a gargoyle, the gift swinging precariously. It felt much higher to fall, with the wind making her head spin. The sense of control that she normally had when climbing had been blown away. But she was still stable. She'd climbed in conditions worse than this – scaling trees much more dangerous than the mansion walls as rain glued her hair to her scalp and lighting shattered the sky. She could reach the parachute, she knew she could. She wasn't going to let the gift escape her.

Giving up on waiting for the wind to calm, she vaulted over the side, landing on the back of another gargoyle. She thought for a moment that it might not have supported her weight, but it held fast. Without the parapet, she was even more exposed. Wrapping one hand around the gargoyle's limestone head, she tucked her hair behind her ears though she knew that the wind would just blow it out of her control again. She squinted at the parachute, trying to stop her eyes from watering. It was one gargoyle away from her, but too far to jump with the wind blowing against her. Her eyes darted around for a route, and settled on a thin gutter linking the two of them, held to the wall by rusting brackets. Carefully, she stood up on the gargoyle's back, almost losing her balance against the wind. Her hand shot out for the wall to steady herself and her heartbeat thundered around her head. Swallowing her fear, she released the wall and ran out onto the gutter.

It sagged and groaned beneath her, and she knew that it would break if she stood still. Her arm scraped against the wall as she ran, her feet shaking the gutter and making her stomach churn. If it gave way then she'd fall, and there was no way that she could survive that treacherous drop. She'd slam into the pavement below, a bloody smear in the formal gardens. Trying to block the thought from her head, she forced herself to run, run, run, until her feet settled onto the gargoyle, which suddenly felt very secure. She collapsed down onto it, arms hugging it as the wind threatened to push her off. But she, and the gargoyle, held fast.

Tentatively, she sat up on the gargoyle like a horse she was riding side-saddle. She looped the parachute off of its neck, and found a thermos flask inside the silver paper. Whispering thanks, she opened it to find hot soup inside. The smell made her mouth water, and she instantly rose it to her lips and drank deep. She stopped herself quickly, knowing that she had to ration it, but the hot liquid coursing down her throat just made her want more.

"Hell yeah!" The shout drifted up to her on the wind, muffled and faint.

Robin instantly grew tense, preparing for an attack. She couldn't see anyone though... She peered over the edge of the gargoyle, white-knuckled hands clinging to it. Far beneath her, at the foot of the wall, was a girl. Robin couldn't see her clearly – the girl was very far down, and her face was obscured by blonde hair that danced in the wind. Her blue dress swirled around her, and her arm was outstretched as if she was pointing at something. Curious, Robin leant closer, trying to work out who it was, and what had prompted her outcry.

The girl brought her arm down and jumped, landing on thin air. Robin almost fell from her perch in shock. The girl was just standing there, no ground beneath her feet. She raised her arm and shot into the sky, hovering quite some distance above the pavement. Robin could just about make out her face now – Clair Tomison, the girl from District Three. She moved her arm again and drifted in another direction. Robin wouldn't call it flying – the girl was standing just as she would on land. The wind stormed around her, whipping her hair and dress into a frenzy as she stood there in the middle of the sky, laughing.

What was going on? Robin wanted to call it witchcraft, but that was impossible. Or was it? Unless it was an illusion, Clair was levitating right in front of her eyes. That was impossible. It was until then, at least. Robin stared in disbelief, amazed and terrified by what she could see. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be happening. But it was.

Then she fell. She let out a yelp as she hurtled off of the gargoyle's back, plummeting towards the ground. Her grip had loosened and she'd leant too close. She rammed her eyes shut, praying that it wouldn't hurt when the ground met her. She hit it too soon. The impact sent shudders through her and she cried out. But... she was still in one piece. Her bones weren't broken, her blood and organs still remained where they should. She'd be bruised and battered, but not severely injured. Groaning, she rolled over and opened her eyes.

She could see the gargoyle above her, much closer than she was sure it should have been. Puzzled, she looked behind her and let out a cry of surprise. She wasn't on the ground. She was sitting on air that felt as solid as pavement. Her hand reached down and found an invisible barrier. Her pulse was racing and her breaths were shallow as she stumbled to her feet, still staring at the air beneath her. She tore her eyes away from it for a moment to see where Clair stood in the air below, as comfortably as if it were the earth. The District Three girl looked up shot Robin a smile.

"You okay up there?"

* * *

Terra yawned as she looked out of the window at the darkening sky. There would be no faces in it tonight. The thought annoyed her. Did the Gamemakers not want the tributes to die or something? They'd dumped them in this stupid arena where none of them could find each other. She couldn't follow any of the patterns she'd been taught – go to water sources, control the supplies. This wasn't the Hunger Games as she'd been taught to play them. The Careers' odds were as good as any other tribute's. Well, they would have been if she didn't have a whole arsenal of firearms strapped to her.

She sighed and pushed herself away from the window, collapsing onto the bed. They'd found the bedroom on their pathetic excuse for a hunt. It wasn't far from the entrance hall, and was lavishly decorated, with a portrait of one of the tributes that she couldn't name hanging on the wall. There was only one bed – a large four-poster with a quilt of soft down. That wasn't exactly a problem though. Terra would make sure that it was Katarzyna that ended up on the floor.

"Another day down," Katarzyna said, sitting down in a chair and pulling off her high-heels.

"And no more tributes dead," Terra grumbled, lying back on the bed and sinking into the mattress.

"I'm sure we'll find some eventually," Katarzyna said.

"When we do you better kill them," Terra said as she idly flicked the hammer on her flintlock.

"Oh, I will." Katarzyna set her daggers down on the dressing table. "I am a Career you know."

"You don't act like it," Terra said. "I saw you at the bloodbath – you _apologised_ to that guy you killed."

"Yeah, but I killed him, didn't I? Just because I'm a Career doesn't mean I don't have a conscience."

"If you want to be a victor then you're gonna have to throw those morals away pretty soon."

"You don't have to be a mindless killing machine to win. My father wasn't."

"Well, it's not like you're going to win anyway," Terra said. "You're playing this game against Terrana Stoner – you're doomed to lose from the start."

"Aw, your friendship means so much to me," Katarzyna said.

Terra gave a biting laugh. "Same, princess."

"Anyway..." Katarzyna pulled some pins from her hair, letting it fall down her back again. "I'm going to go and have a bath – we might as well use the en suite while the water's still going."

"Because having a bath is a great way to save water," Terra said. "But yeah – that's a good idea. Go give the viewers some fanservice and hopefully they'll send us some food."

"Fanservice?"

"Yeah, you know – go take your clothes off and perverts will sponsor you."

Katarzyna flushed bright red. "They don't show that kind of stuff..."

"Never tuned into the late night coverage, have you?" Terra grinned and Katarzyna flinched. "Those Capitol guys are pervs, Kat, get used to it. Not much you can do about it, you're eighteen, it's legal."

"They don't have my consent!"

"You volunteered for this," Terra said with a shrug. "You're fine with having your death shown on national television, they kind of assume that you'll be alright with showing a bit of skin as well."

Katarzyna rubbed her arm and stared at the floor. "I don't want people watching me while..."

"They're watching you all the time, get used to it. Go have your damned bath."

Katarzyna seemed like she was going to protest, but just gave an exasperated sigh and stormed off through the door into the bathroom. The sound of her pulling the latch across the door echoed, and then the room was silent. Terra smiled to herself and kicked off her boots, watching as they hit into the wall. A moment's peace without Katarzyna's incessant whining was always welcome. Katarzyna just didn't shut up. She clearly wasn't a fan of awkward silences, so felt compelled to fill them with forced chatter. Which just made Terra feel compelled to punch her in the face.

Terra slumped back onto the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to imagine herself back at home, but failed. She was all too aware of the mansion around her, and how wrong it was. A rustling sound made her jump. Faint and distant, barely audible to any but Terra's trained ears. Readying her pistol, she sat up, eyes flitting around as she searched for the source. Beyond the curtains, a tree's branches flailed outside. Terra sighed. It was just a breeze, that was all. She doubted that the wind was a harbinger of anything – it was just put there to try and liven up the arena a bit. That was how boring these Games were. Even a slight breeze was more interesting than anything that the tributes were doing. At least it made a slight change to the unrelenting tedium of the damned mansion. A very slight change.

She stood up, letting her gun fall to her thigh. Leaning one arm on the window sill, she found a small key and shoved the window open. The wind rushed past her face, stronger than she'd expected. It was a nice relief to the stagnant air that floated through the mansion. She leant slightly further out of the window, letting the cold air caress her cheeks and drive her hair wild. Then her arm shot down over the ledge and her fingers closed on the collar of the boy who'd been hiding there. He was light enough for her to easily pull him up and into the room. His back grated against the brick wall and he cried out, prompting a smirk from Terra. He was a tiny twig of a boy – couldn't have been more than fourteen, with large hazel eyes full of fear. Terra's grip was strong, and though he struggled he couldn't escape her. She could feel his heartbeat racing and saw his chest rise and fall with hasty breaths. Pulling back the hammer, she shoved the barrel of the flintlock under his chin, nudging his head up with the cold metal.

"Spying on the Careers, eh?" she sneered. "Whatever possessed you to try that tactic?"

The boy was silent, trying to keep his expression resolute though his fear-filled eyes betrayed him.

"Thought you were being clever, were you? Thought we wouldn't notice what was right beneath our noses?" She pressed the gun harder against him. "Well, I think we can both see that you were wrong."

Suddenly, his hand lunged for the dressing table, his fingertips brushing against the hilt of one of Katarzyna's daggers. He was quick, and the fabric of his shirt burnt Terra's palm, but years of Career training had made her strong, and she pulled him back towards her. She laughed as he hopelessly reached for the dagger that he couldn't quite touch.

"Do you really think you've got a chance? I'm the Career here!"

The boy stopped struggling. "You're a pretty terrible Career. You can't get a kill unless it walks straight into you." A small smile appeared on his lips and Terra's face fell.

Anger burnt in her eyes as she threw him against the wall. His head slammed into it with a sickening crack and he cried out as he slid to the floor, leaving a bloody smear on the wallpaper. He clutched at his head, staining his fingers with the blood that seeped from his skull. Terra grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up, so his eyes were locked on hers. There were tears in them, but he didn't cry despite the pain. With a flick of her wrist, Terra placed the gun against his forehead.

"You're lucky I use guns, or this would be a hell of a lot more painful."

She'd had enough messing around. She pulled the trigger and a deafening shot rang out. The boy shuddered as the bullet tore through him, his eyes widened slightly, and then dulled. A cannon sounded, a distant echo of Terra's gunshot. The smirk returned to her lips as she wiped the blood from the barrel of the gun. The boy's lifeless body slumped against the wall, his glazed eyes staring blankly ahead. The wall behind him was splattered with blood that surrounded his head like a twisted halo. From the wound on his forehead, blood tricked down into his eyes.

A commotion behind her made Terra turn around. Katarzyna burst out of the bathroom, her wet hair glued to her back and her body wrapped in a sheet. Her eyes fell on the boy's corpse and she gasped. Terra shot her a smile.

"Today just got a lot better."

"That's the boy from Ten..." Katarzyna said breathlessly as disgust, confusion and relief played on her face. "You killed him?"

"No, he came in here and shot himself in the head." Terra fell back onto the bed and watched Katarzyna through her messy fringe. "Of course I killed him – what do you think?"

"Well... Good job, I guess." Katarzyna smiled weakly. Terra could see that she was shaking as she looked at the corpse.

"Why thank you," Terra said. "Now go get your clothes back on. I'm going to need some help to throw him out of the window."

* * *

Two days into the Games, and Rayne had two more allies than he wanted. Well, two more allies than he'd thought he wanted. As it turned out, Bliric and Sable weren't bad company. He actually quite liked having them around. Bliric was calm and quiet, only making conversation when he knew that it was wanted. He had quite a few things in common with Rayne and they got along better than Rayne had expected. He knew less about Sable. She'd been very shaken for a few hours after they'd found her, and Rayne didn't blame her. She seemed nice enough though, friendly without being overly chatty in that way that Rayne found grating.

They'd found a lounge to settle in, now that night had begun to fall. Bliric was sitting in an armchair, reading a book. Sable lay back on a sofa, staring at the ceiling as she twisted her engagement ring around her finger. Rayne found it hard to believe that Sable was getting married. She felt about the same age as Bliric when she was talking, and didn't look much older either. She was rather plain looking, with auburn hair and some freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Rayne would have placed her at sixteen at most. But she was eighteen, and getting married. There was someone in District Eight, watching her as she played with the ring that he'd given her, hoping and praying that she'd be the one to get home. Part of Rayne wanted to see her make it back alive, to know that she would walk down the aisle in a white gown and live a long and happy life. That couldn't happen though, because Rayne wanted to win. And if he won, then Sable would die. And Bliric, and everyone. He couldn't let himself get attached to his allies. They were just tools for him to use to win, and to be thrown away once they had served their purpose. He was pretty sure that Bliric saw him in the same way, and he didn't mind. Although they were currently allies, they were ultimately opponents, destined to kill or to die. He just hoped that that wouldn't be at each other's hands.

The cannon echoed through the arena. Sable jumped and Bliric almost dropped his book. The sound of the cannon seemed to hang in the air for much longer than it should have, sending chills down Rayne's spine.

"Someone just died..." Sable said quietly, breaking the silence.

Bliric moistened his lips. "We are in the Hunger Games."

"I wonder who it was?" Sable asked.

"We'll have to wait until tomorrow," Rayne said, glancing towards the window. "I think we've missed the time when they'd show the faces."

Bliric nodded. "It's too late now."

"Doesn't it make you feel weird, that you're in the same building as a corpse?" Sable said. "Like, they could have died just a couple of rooms away from us... their killer..."

"I think that the bloodbath kind of desensitised me," Rayne said. "I saw enough children brutally murdered there to last me a lifetime, to be honest."

"Hopefully we won't see more," Sable said.

"In a perfect world," Rayne said. "Unfortunately, we're in the Hunger Games. We're going to see quite a few more corpses."

Bliric flicked back to his place in the book, but Rayne could see that his attention wasn't focused on it. "How many are left now?"

"Eight went in the bloodbath," Sable said. "And there haven't been any more today. Although, well, I came close. So that's nine dead."

"Fifteen alive," Rayne said.

"That's not too bad," Sable said.

"Twelve of them are trying to kill us," Rayne said.

"Two Careers," Bliric said. "And plenty of other dangerous tributes."

Rayne nodded. "There's Damien, Raylene, Ade... – lots of people that would happily kill you. So yeah. Not that great."

"We're doing all right so far," Sable said. "You shouldn't be so negative."

"I'm not being negative, I'm being realistic."

Rayne pushed himself out of his chair and wandered over to a desk in the corner. "So who's taking first watch?"

"I'm not tired," Bliric said. "I'll do it, if no one else wants to."

Rayne shrugged. "I don't particularly mind. I'm not desperate for sleep."

"I'll take second, if that's okay," Sable said.

"Then I guess I'm last," Rayne said, pulling open a drawer on the desk.

"Sounds good to me." Bliric pulled his legs up onto the chair. "What are you doing?"

Rayne leafed through the old parchment that lay inside the desk. It was fragile to the point that it crackled beneath his fingers. The ink was so faded that he couldn't read whatever had been written on it. "Just looking around."

"Just don't poke anything suspicious looking. We've seen that this place is trapped." Bliric glanced at Sable.

"I think we're safe in here," Rayne said.

"Coming from you, that almost sounds like optimism."

Rayne smiled slightly as he closed the drawer. He hesitated just before it slid shut. Beneath it, in the darkness of the drawer below, he could see something shining. Well, not exactly shining – whatever it was was as old and dusty as the rest of the drawer's contents, but there was a definite glow to it. He frowned as he tried to open the second drawer – it was locked. Carefully, he pulled out the top drawer and placed it onto the desk, so he could reach down into the drawer below. He could see it slightly clearer now. It was a glass orb, about the size of his palm, with some kind of pattern on the misty glass. He stopped himself as his hand reached towards it.

"Bliric? You know what you said about not poking anything suspicious?"

"Yes..?"

"Promise not to get mad at me if I kill us all."

Bliric looked up from his book. "You've found something?"

Rayne nodded, and Bliric got up from the chair, leaving the book on the arm. He walked to Rayne's side and squinted into the darkness.

"It's a paperweight," he said with a faint laugh. "Don't be so paranoid, not everything's out to kill us."

"I don't think it's just a paperweight..."

"Then take it if you really want. I'm sure it'll make a brilliant weapon to go with the letter opener."

"Oh ha ha."

Rayne reached into the drawer and pulled out the orb. It was heavy, solid glass, which chilled the tips of his fingers. The glass was frosted – misty in the middle so that he couldn't quite see through it. Scratched onto the curved surface of the orb was some kind of circle, criss-crossed with lines and littered with runes. Rayne ran his thumb over it, feeling the ridge of the engraving. It felt familiar, somehow.

"Nothing special," Bliric said with a shrug.

Rayne looked at him, then hesitated. On the black leather of Bliric's eyepatch was the same circle that was on the orb. Pressed into the leather, it was barely visible except for when it caught the light.

"Your eyepatch..."

"What about it?"

"The circle, it's the same as the one on the paperweight."

Bliric traced the outline of the embossing on the eyepatch, as if just noticing it for the first time. He pulled his hand away. "It's just a coincidence. Just a pretty pattern that they reused."

"Coincidence? This entire arena is _planned_. There must have been a reason for them to use the same design."

"There are only so many magic circle designs that they can use. Anyway, even if there was some link between that and my eyepatch, what would that mean?"

"I don't know! I just know that this isn't an accident."

"How were the Gamemakers meant to know that you'd open that drawer? Surely if we were meant to find that blasted paperweight then they'd have put it somewhere a little bit more obvious."

"What are you two arguing about?" Sable called from the sofa.

"Nothing, just Rayne overreacting," Bliric said.

"Overreacting? Bliric, this is a weird place. I wouldn't be surprised if this is..."

"It's a paperweight!"

Bliric snatched the orb from Rayne's hand, and froze. As his fingers touched the glass, the mist in the middle began to swirl, moving beneath the surface of the orb. Slowly, like an old machine being turned on for the first time in years, the circle on the glass began to glow. Faint at first, it gradually filled with a bright blue light. Bliric just stared at it, wide eyed. Though he was shocked, Rayne couldn't help but smile.

"Just a paperweight, is it?"

* * *

Serene lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. She tried to keep them closed, but she just couldn't. Her eyelids would always flutter open again. She didn't know how long she'd been lying there, trying to drag herself closer to sleep, but it had been long enough for the sky outside to turn to black. Moonlight drifted in through the window, adding a faint blue sheen to the little that she could see.

Damien had insisted that she took the bed, though she didn't see the point if she wasn't going to be able to drift into sleep. He'd taken the duvet, and lay silent and still on the floor beside her. She assumed that he'd managed to fall asleep. Maybe having a blanket would have helped her to rest. Despite the soft mattress and plump pillows, without a sheet over her she felt very exposed. Not exactly cold – her dress was thick enough to keep her close to warm – but very open.

She rolled onto her side, desperately trying to sleep. She hadn't slept well the previous night, and knew that she'd have to rest if she wanted to be alert. But sleep wouldn't come. It wasn't even close – none of the restless slipping in and out of dreams that she'd had the night before. Instead, she was just lying there as the long minutes dragged by.

A strange noise, like a guttural growl, made her jump. She sat up, pushing her fringe out of her eyes, and peered over the edge of the bed. All she could see was Damien, curled up beneath his blankets. She hadn't thought that he'd be one to snore. The thought made her smile, for some reason. High and mighty Damien was just as human as everyone else. He looked different when he was asleep, his features softer, younger even.

She fell back onto the bed, but something caught her eye as she did so. She looked back towards Damien, then past Damien, towards the wall. There was nothing there, just the wallpaper cloaked in shadow. She was about to look away again when the shadow moved. Just a faint twitch, but a definite movement. A shadow in the darkness. Shivers ran along her spine and she froze, reluctant to turn around. It was probably just the curtains twitching in the breeze, but still...

Slowly, each movement deliberate, she looked over her shoulder. Standing in front of the window was a child. Or at least, it looked like a child at first. With a click, it turned its head slightly so that the moonlight caught its face. What should have been its face. Serene recoiled in horror, her scream catching in her suddenly dry throat. The child's skin was stretched thin over bones, pale and gaunt. Its clothes, once a neat white shirt and dark trousers, were torn and dirty with blood and filth. But nothing was as bad as its face. Its eyes were black, completely black, not like eyes at all, but like solid darkness staring from its skull. Its bottom jaw was gone, leaving its top layer of yellowed teeth exposed in bloodied gums. Around its mouth the skin hung in tatters, and a long tear of flesh stretched down its throat where the jaw had been ripped away.

"Damien..." Serene said, unable to make more than a whisper as she backed away from the creature. "Damien!"

Its eyes were on her, she could feel it. Those hideous black voids, staring deep into her. Her heart raced in her chest, quicker than her shallow breaths. Then, each joint clicking and groaning, the child took a step towards her.

She screamed and scurried backwards, tumbling off of the bed. In a jumble of limbs, she landed on Damien, who gave a surprised shout as he woke up.

"Serene? What the hell's going on?" he snapped as she stumbled to her feet.

"There's... there's a..." The words couldn't quite form a sentence.

"Tell me what's happening!"

"The child..." Serene looked back at the window, but the thing had gone. There was nothing but air where it had been. Serene yelped and pressed herself back against the wall.

"You're making no sense!"

"There was... right there... like a demon..."

Not taking her eyes away from the window, she edged around the room towards the door.

"You were dreaming," Damien snapped. "You woke me up in such a rough manner just because of a dream?"

"I wasn't..." Serene's hand fastened on the door handle, but the door stayed fast as she tried to open it. Desperately, she tried again and again. "Locked! They've locked the room!"

"There'll be a key around here somewhere," Damien said. "Look, it was just a nightmare. And it's the middle of the night and I'd quite like to sleep."

"I swear, it was..."

"No, it wasn't. It's all in your..."

Damien yelped as he fell to the ground. Serene gasped as she saw a pale hand with fingers tipped with claws clasped around his ankle. It was coming from under the bed. There was that strange growl again, and Damien's eyes widened as he looked up at Serene. He kicked at the thing beneath the bed, struggling against it, but it must have been strong.

"Don't just stand there!" he yelled.

Serene couldn't make herself move as the creature crawled from beneath the bed, hunched over Damien like a predator over prey. He threw a punch at it, but it caught his hand. The points of its nails bit into his skin, drawing blood. He gritted his teeth, and as he looked at Serene his eyes burnt with anger.

"You're useless! Useless!"

Serene pushed herself away from the wall, reaching for Damien's sword. She took it, but immediately sagged, unable to support its weight. The blade clattered to the ground. Damien was shouting something, clearly in pain. Her hand closed around the hilt of her knife. She turned back to Damien. The thing's claws were digging into his cheek, gradually grating down his face. It was toying with him, playing. If she made a move to kill the creature, it could easily end Damien's life before she reached it. Her heart was louder than it had ever been before as she met Damien's eyes, full of pain and anger. The creature turned to look at her, and if it could have managed a smile then she knew it would have been grinning. It had her in check. If she moved, Damien died. If she didn't, Damien would die slowly.

Then a thought hit her. A useless, desperate thought, but the only one she had.

She let the knife fall to the floor and raised her hand. The demon froze, tilting its head to one side with almost curiosity. Trying to swallow her fear, she looked it straight in the eyes.

"Lumina," she uttered, a harsh whisper.

The room was filled with a flash of light, forcing her eyes closed. The child screamed, a hideous noise that made her skin crawl. She felt herself shaking. The light was coming from her, through her, she could feel it. It was indescribable. The light flowed from her like blood from a wound. It wasn't unpleasant – invigorating, exhausting, utterly terrifying.

She opened her eyes to see the child gone, a drifting cloud of ashes in its place. The light had faded to a soft glow around her hand, reflected in Damien's incredulous eyes. She lowered her hand and the light was extinguished, leaving them alone in the moonlight. Her breathing was jagged and tears stung her eyes. Fear, relief, panic, all stormed inside of her. She tried to talk, but her mouth was dry.

"Serene, what just..?" Damien sat up, blood dribbling down his cheek like tears.

He seemed distant, almost blurry.

"I... I don't..."

"Serene? Are you..."

She hit the ground before he finished talking.

* * *

**See – I haven't forgotten about this story! I'm really sorry about how long it took to get this chapter written, I've been incredibly busy with exams (and I've been addicted to Dragon Age. If you like fantasy RPGs, play that game. Seriously. Even if you're not a gamer and just like fantasy with a great plot and some of the best characters ever, play that game. I can't recommend it enough. But it will take over your life and will make you write less fanfiction.)**

**Anyway, I'm trying to up the pace a bit. POV segments are getting a bit shorter, because they were dragging a bit before and I just want to get to the core of the story. I really hope you liked this chapter! And I'm so so sorry about killing Ellis. I really liked him but… well, it's the Hunger Games. This is why I haven't killed many people so far, I feel really guilty when I do :(**

**I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, hopefully soon, but I've still got a few more exams to go, including physics, which is hellish. It shouldn't take as long as this one did though, I'm getting back into the swing of writing. Thanks so much for sticking with me despite the irregular updates. All your reviews never fail to make me happy, even if I've been pretty useless at replying to them recently :)**


	22. Another Author's Note

**Another update on the state of this story**

I want to give this an ending. It won't be the ending that I originally planned, but I feel like I need to give this fic some kind of conclusion after everything that I've put into it so far. So here's what I'm going to do, so I can wrap it up in a couple of months or so.

I'm going to rush down to the final eight. I'm going to hate doing this, and it means I'm going to kill off a lot of characters that I wish I'd given the chance to shine, but there's no way I was ever going to finish this if I tried to give them all a story. I'm really sorry, but it's the only way I can see this ending. Send me a message and I'll try to make your character survive – I don't want to let down anyone that's been waiting for months for this fic to update.

I'm also going to swap POV, going into the first person, present tense that I used for Games of the Damned. It'll be a bit jarring at first, but I write so much quicker in that style.

I hope that this is okay with everyone :) (And if it's not… tough – it's what you're getting!)

Thanks for sticking by me through all of this, I'm sorry for making you wait months for an update. I'll try to get the next chapter up by the weekend.

Btw, this is overwriting the last author's note I did, so you might not be able to review on this if you commented on the last one.


	23. Reactivate

_Day 3_

Ethine narrowed her eyes, bringing the plant pot into focus. Beyond her outstretched fingers, the speck of flame hung in the air, burning bright. The wall that the pot sat on was blackened from misses, but the pot itself remained unscathed.

"Okay, this time, try not to lower your arm," Key said from behind her.

"I worked that much out."

Ethine flicked her wrist and shot her palm outwards, sending the fire spinning through the air towards the plant pot. It fell short, slamming into the brick wall and leaving yet another charred mark. Ethine would have sworn, but she remembered that she was on live television and there was a good chance her family were watching.

"Well, I think that was a bit closer," Key said.

"It wasn't," Ethine said, running a hand through her hair. "It's always 'closer', isn't it? Then how come I can't hit that plant pot!"

"It is a very small target," Key said. "It's not exactly easy to hit with a fireball."

"Let's try with a bigger target then. Maybe something human sized..." She turned to face him and his eyes widened slightly in shock. "Just a joke," she said, and he relaxed.

"Maybe you just need a break," Key said. "You've been going since morning." He looked up at the sky. "It's almost midday now."

They were amongst the roses in the grounds of the mansion, where the sunlight drifted down through scattered clouds. It was still a predominantly grey day, but one of the nicer mornings that they'd seen in the arena. Though she knew that it would have been safer to stay inside, Ethine had insisted on going outside to practice. She couldn't risk setting fire to the whole mansion. The gale of the previous day had died down, but a faint breeze still rattled the drooping roses and Ethine's hair. She couldn't blame her lack of accuracy on that though.

They'd come to the silent conclusion that the fire magic belonged to Ethine. Key hadn't protested when she'd asked to try it out some more, and he'd even encouraged her. She couldn't help but find that a little strange. When he'd discovered the spell amongst the pages of the diary, he'd seemed so keen to try out the magic for himself. Even when she'd offered him a chance to use it, he'd turned it down. Ethine hadn't questioned it at the time, but now that she thought about it it did seem a bit odd.

"Let me try again," Ethine said. "I'll rest once I've done this right."

"Don't wear yourself out," Key said. "We're kind of an obvious target out here, throwing fireballs around in the open. If another tribute shows then you'll have to be ready to run."

"It's not tiring," Ethine lied. Her arm ached from holding it out for so long, but there was something else as well. The magic felt like it was draining her a little, though that was probably just her imagination. She was focusing on it so much, straining to control the fire. "Anyway, if I get better at target practice then we won't have to run from fights, will we?"

"Do you think you could do that then? Use the magic against another person?"

Ethine hesitated before answering. "I think so. I'm not sure. It's one of those things that in theory I should be able to do, but I'm not sure if I could in reality. It hasn't been something I've given a great deal of thought to."

She reached into the pouch at her belt and took out another pinch of powder. They'd ground the herbs as finely as possible so that they'd last for longer, and the powder between her fingers was like sand. She threw it forward a little way and it ignited at the click of her fingers. She'd mastered that now, but seeing the flames burst into life still brought a small smile to her lips, no matter how illogical it was.

"Well, let's hope that we don't have to find out if you can."

"Of course we will," Ethine said, still focused on the flames. "Unless we die. If we want to survive then we're going to have to fight at some point."

"I suppose so," Key replied. "I'm not sure if you're quite up for combat magic yet though."

It surprised Ethine how easily they were talking about magic. A concept that just the day before had been completely fantastical, was now just as commonplace in conversation as something as mundane as the weather. It wasn't really magic, obviously, there was some kind of bizarre science behind the flames, but Ethine had to admit that it was just easier to call it magic. It looked like magic, acted like magic, so while they were in the arena it was – for all intents and purposes – magic.

She pushed her palm forward, sending the flames flying at the wall. It was like throwing a ball, which was something Ethine had never been particularly good at. This time, the fire clipped the edge of the plant pot as it sailed past. Ethine groaned.

"Doesn't that count as a hit?" Key asked.

"It wasn't," Ethine said. "So no, it doesn't."

"It was close enough," Key said, sitting down on the low wall surrounding the rose bushes. "If that was a mutt then it would be on fire right now. Surely that's enough?"

Ethine bit her lip and glanced over at the plant pot, feeling oddly proud of seeing the blackened pottery. "But still..."

"You're doing an amazing job," Key said with a smile. "You've gone from district kid to wizard in a few hours!"

"I've got a while to go before I hit 'wizard' I think," Ethine said.

"You're close enough for now," Key said. "It's not a crime for you to want to take a break. Just sit down for ten minutes."

"I... fine."

Ethine didn't realise how worn out she'd been feeling until she settled on the wall beside Key. She'd been standing up for hours, throwing fire at the same target over and over again. Her limbs ached, but she'd managed to block that out. Now, it hit her all at once, and part of her wanted to just lie down on the pavement and fall asleep. But that would be silly.

"Key?" she asked eventually.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you want to use magic?" Ethine rubbed her arm and looked up at the sky. "It doesn't make sense for just me to be doing this if we could have two of us with magic."

Key laughed, but even Ethine could tell that it was awkward and forced. "It makes a lot of sense, when you think about it. Two of us throwing fireballs everywhere would probably increase chances of setting each other – or the whole arena – on fire. Aim's never exactly been my strong point, so you should be the one with the magic."

"What makes you think I've got better aim?" Ethine frowned. "I think I've proved that I'm just as bad as you."

"Nevertheless, I'd be better with a weapon than you. You need the magic – it gives you a chance to fight. Brains and brawn, remember? Mage and fighter now."

"But we don't _have_ a weapon, Key."

"Nonsense! We have a briefcase!"

"Exactly. That's not a weapon. So why don't you learn magic until we get something spiky?"

That made Key smile, a more genuine one than the fixed grin that he'd been wearing. "We'll get our hands on something spiky soon enough. Until then, I'm good enough with my fists."

"But..." Ethine paused. "If that's what you really think, that's fine. I just don't want to be getting in your way if you did want to use it."

"You're not getting in my way," Key said. "Not at all."

Ethine hesitated, not sure of how to react, but then she smiled faintly.

It made her glad, in a strange way, that Key didn't want to use the fire. It would have been more logical to have two magic-users – though she had given in, she still didn't quite see Key's way of thinking – but it made her feel useful. She'd felt a bit like a dead weight that Key was just putting up with. Though he'd insisted that he needed her for her mind, she could tell that he was one of the more intelligent tributes in the arena. But now, now that the fire would dance from her fingers, she felt useful. More than that, she felt special. She could fight, she could defend herself, she could protect Key. If she could improve her aim, that was.

Without another word, Ethine stood up, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she did so. She turned to face her makeshift firing range, lining herself up with the plant pot. Her hand went to the pouch at her waist, but she didn't take her eyes from the target. Deliberately, each movement controlled, she stretched her arm out in front of her, feeling the pinch of powder between her fingers.

Then, in one fluid movement, she clicked her fingers and threw the fire, not pausing to let it hang in the air. It sailed through the air and her breath caught in her throat. The fire slammed into the plant pot, and Ethine almost expected it to be knocked from the wall. The flames just slid round it, flickering into nothing, leaving a blackened plant pot in their wake.

* * *

_Day 10_

Elsa Quen's eyes scanned the screens in front of her, checking that nothing important was going on before they cut to the final eight interviews. The last tribute had died a moment ago – Terrana Stoner, the Career from Two. Her charred corpse lay in the corridor, at the feet of the red-headed girl from Five, who was staring at her as if she couldn't quite believe that she'd killed her. Elsa rolled her eyes. Ethine couldn't seriously be playing the wide-eyed innocence angle when she'd finished off the District Seven girl just a few days before. It was a shame Terrana had died – she'd been popular with sponsors from the start – but Ethine was a firm fan-favourite. It would have been even worse if she'd lost the fight.

"Cut," Elsa said, satisfied that the audience wouldn't be missing anything.

The screens cut straight to the Capitol studio and Elsa pulled off her headphones with a sigh to avoid the screeches of the presenter.

It had been a hectic week for the Head Gamemaker. An ambush by the Careers had gone horribly wrong on the fourth day, leaving Katarzyna dead. They'd attacked Clair and Robin, whose shaky alliance had worked too well. Katarzyna had got a knife in the back of the head from Robin and Terrana had run. It had been a shame to lose such a promising tribute.

Not long after, Ethine had taken down Raylene. She'd gone to the orchard to search for food and Raylene had thought that she'd be easy prey, but she hadn't counted on the fire that Ethine had been blessed with. Raylene had burnt without uttering a single scream, and Ethine had run back to her ally, shaken.

Jack had died next. Terrana had attacked Valkyrie, and Jack had run in trying to play the hero. He'd ended up with a bullet in his skull. Terrana hadn't managed to escape unharmed – Valkyrie had cost her her left arm with a lucky swing of an axe. Ade had clearly blamed Valkyrie for the death of Jack, who'd become his friend, but the two of them had stuck together as allies.

Robin had been next to go when she'd tried to leave her alliance with Clair. After an argument that nearly came to blows, she'd attempted to sneak away in the middle of the night. Greed had gotten the better of her and she'd attempted to steal Clair's rings. She hadn't been subtle enough - Clair had woken up and attacked Robin. The fight was close, though the forcefields helped Clair to land the final blow on her ally.

Damien died a few days later when he'd attacked Sable. Bliric and Rayne had arrived just in time to defend her. It was then that Bliric finally realised the full extent of the lightning powers granted to him by the orb. Damien hadn't stood a chance, and another strong competitor had been lost. Serene had managed to flee as Damien cursed her cowardice.

The demons got to Rayne on the next night. He had gone down fighting to defend his sleeping allies when he could have easily left them to die and saved his own skin. Bliric woke up just in time to hear his friend's cannon.

Terrana had been the last to go when Ethine had finished what Valkyrie had started. Twenty-four was down to eight.

Elsa sighed and her eyes flickered up to the screen, where some district people were sharing their inane thoughts and feelings on the Games. She'd always loathed the interviews, and left them to the control of the other Gamemakers and the mindless Capitol presenters. The audience wanted the Games, not pathetic sob-stories. If they wanted drama, there was more than enough of that in the Games themselves.

"Ready to go?" Elsa heard a faint voice buzz out of her discarded headset.

Blinking her tiredness away, she picked up the headset again. It was time for the final eight – the final act.

"Cut to camera seventy-one," she said, and leant back in her chair.

Then the Games began again.

* * *

**Look – an update! I wasn't lying when I said that I was going to speed things up, but I doubt that any of you were expecting that. I wish I'd had time to write this in full, because a load of great characters have been lost this chapter. It was honestly painful to pick the final eight, and I just hope that I made the right decisions. If your character was killed, I'm so sorry :( Every character in this fic was amazing, it's a shame so many of them had to end like this. Gah, choosing a winner is going to be even more difficult.**

**For easy reference, the final eight:**

**Key Kellik , D3  
Clair Tomison, D3  
Valkyrie Pyre, D4  
Ethine Holtz, D5  
Serene Asire, D6  
Sable Zinith, D8  
Ade Wysor, D9  
Bliric Hozzay, D11**

**I can't wait to start writing about them all again :) By the way, ignore what I said about changing, POV, I like 3****rd**** person more. I'll just up the pace a lot. Oh, and the scene at the start of this chapter was written ages ago, but I liked it and wanted to put it in anyway.**


	24. Faces in the Sky

It had happened too quickly. The bullet had torn into Ethine's arm and agonising pain had ripped through her. Eyes hot with the sting of tears, she'd looked up to see Terra readying her gun for another shot. There hadn't been time to think. Key was yelling, blood was spilling from her arm and the pain had conquered her thoughts. By instinct, she'd raised her arm and opened the reagent pouch at her wrist. A click of her shaking fingers and the fireball had charged down the corridor. She'd just been able to see Terra's eyes widen before the flames had engulfed her in a roar of fire and her screams.

The cannon shook the sky and Ethine had stood for a moment, shaking and staring, until her legs gave way and she crumpled to the floor. A clash of metal on stone as Key dropped his greatsword, and he was beside her. Between shuddering sobs, she opened her eyes and looked up into his worried face as he cradled her torso away from the floor.

"Bandages," she croaked. "In the briefcase."

Biting his lip, Key nodded frantically and opened the makeshift first aid kit that they'd gathered. She winced as he took hold of her bleeding arm, and for the first time looked down at her wound. The bullet had shot all the way through her arm, leaving bloody tears in her sleeve. The red blood seeped into the green fabric, dying it a glistening black. The pain was terrible, unlike anything she'd felt before, but through it her mind told her that it could have been much worse. The wound was pretty clean, and she was almost certain that it had miraculously missed major arteries. There'd be no scrabbling to remove the bullet.

Roughly, Key wrapped the bandage round her arm, the blood instantly turning it red. He didn't hesitate as she cried out, begging him to stop. Though the binding sent spasms of pain through her, she knew she needed it, and it needed to be tight. The wound definitely wouldn't be fatal, not if they controlled it.

Key pulled the bandage into a tight knot, sealing it around the injury. Breathing heavily, she tilted her head back against the floor, sweat shining on her brow. The pain was beginning to numb.

"Thank you," she whispered, the words heavy with effort.

Key smiled down at her, a sheen of tears to his eyes. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Ethine struggled to sit up, using her good arm to push herself away from the ground. It was too much, and her arm slid away from her. Key caught her before she hit the hard tiles.

"Don't push yourself," he said. "You need to rest."

"Not here," she said. "Anyone could find us."

She grabbed hold of his shoulder and pulled herself up, head spinning. She took one awkward step with shaking legs and stumbled. She fell into Key, who helped to steady her. His arm was around her as she leant against him, trying to stay on her feet. By accident, his fingers touched the bandage and she cried out as pain shot through her.

"You can't try to move like this," Key said. "You'll hurt yourself again."

"I don't want to stay here," Ethine said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

She glanced along the corridor, to where the charred mess of Terra's body lay. Her skin was blackened, twisted by the heat, and she was barely recognisable as human. The corpse stank of burning flesh. Ethine could remember when she'd seen the girl from District Seven look like that, how it had shaken her to her core. She'd ran from the orchard as fast as her legs could carry her, away from the tendrils of flame that still lapped at the dead girl's red hair. Terra's body didn't summon the same level of repulsion, she assumed that she was more used to it by now, but she still didn't like looking at it, or being near it.

Key followed her line of sight and turned back to her.

"We'll see how you feel in ten minutes," he said.

She gave a reluctant nod. Gently, he lowered her back down to the floor, resting her against the wall so that she could sit up. He slung his sword across his back and crouched down beside her.

"You know what just happened, don't you?" Ethine said. He frowned, and she guessed that he didn't. "I just killed the sixteenth tribute."

Realisation flashed in Key's eyes. "We're in the final eight."

Ethine nodded weakly. "It's almost over." She wasn't sure if she should smile or not.

She wanted the Games to be over. She wanted to win. As each cannon fired, she felt the end sneaking closer, but with it came a suffocating sense of finality. By the time the Games ended, either her or Key, or both of them, would be dead. She couldn't win without him losing. She didn't want that. He'd been with her since the start, trusting and encouraging her, looking out for her, protecting her. The thought of him dying hurt. Well, not a physical hurt, not like the bullet had, but it was a numbing, hollow ache that brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes.

"Is this when you leave?" she said quietly. "We're going to have to separate at some point, and it's better to do it now than to wait for..."

"Ethine, we're sticking together," Key said.

"That makes no sense," Ethine said, the words spilling out of her before she could control them. "If we stay together then we're going to have to either watch each other die, or – if we're lucky enough to make it that far – we're going to have to fight each other. It's better to split up now, it's what the commentators always say tributes should do. But they don't, because they're stupid and they want their alliances. They end up with knives in their backs or..."

"I'm not going to betray you," Key said, furrowing his brow. "You're not just my ally, you're my friend."

"I know, I know," Ethine said with a nod, her voice cracking slightly. "But still. They always die, the allies. Or they seem to think that they can both win, when they know that that's wrong. Because no matter how much they want to survive, only one of them can. It's stupid to think anything else, to even want anything else. The rules are the rules; we knew that from the start."

"Ethine, do you want us to split up?" Key asked, his tone much calmer than hers had been, but hesitant.

"I..." She looked up at him, green eyes meeting blue. She knew that there was a right answer to the question, but, more than that, she knew that it wasn't the answer that she wanted to give. "No."

Key smiled. "I thought you said that that was stupid."

"It is." She knew now why they all stayed, those idiotic tributes who were too foolish to let go of their alliances, of their friends. Losing Key would hurt too much. She couldn't imagine wandering the dark corridors of the mansion by herself. She'd rather be a fool.

Key put an arm around her and drew her closer to him. Initially she was tense, but she relaxed. She closed her eyes and leant against him, the pain of the bullet wound just a numb echo at the back of her mind. Any thoughts of the corpse that they shared the corridor with were out of her.

"Then I'm with you," Key said. "Until the end."

* * *

The glass moved as the cannon fired. The lead groaned as it twisted into a new form, the panes of glass grated and crunched as they grew, shrunk, changed colour. The stained glass that had shown Terra Stoner with her ill-fitting suit and permanent smirk shifted. Her face fell, deformed into a scream. Orange and red shards of glass snaked up from the bottom of the window, the translucent flames consuming her legs in an inferno. She looked like a witch at the stake, wretched and agonised.

Clair watched, amused. It happened every time a tribute died. Their corresponding window would change into a horrific scene of their death. Beside Terra, the glass Kaleb's forehead was shattered by a bullet. On the other wall of the church, Robin was pierced with her own throwing knives, reflected by a forcefield. Clair never had to wait for the death recap to know who was dead.

Robin had been her ally when they'd found the church in the mansion's grounds. It was a small building, but still impressive, with its vaulted ceiling and elegant stonework. Statues stood in enclaves on the walls, their faces scratched and deformed. The altar was broken, and what was left of it was covered in dust. Giant cobwebs hung from the ceiling like tattered veils separating Clair from the heavens. It had sent shivers down her spine at first, but by now it was almost her home. She'd spent several nights on the cold floor or curled up on moth-eaten cushions on the pews.

The windows had fascinated her since she'd arrived there. There was one for every tribute, each of them recognisable even in the stylised cut of the stained glass. When they'd first moved, Robin had shrieked and run from the church. Clair was more interested than afraid of the Capitol's magic, and now whenever a cannon fired she would rush to the centre of the aisle and watch with bated breath for one to move.

The living tributes still stood like saints or heroes in their frames. There were eight of them now, the light filtering into the church through their pale skin and blank eyes. Clair looked up at them, taking it all in as she was bathed in the light of Terra's flames. Eight tributes left, hardly any of them were in her predicted final eight. The Careers lay dead, as did the emotionless Raylene and the sinister Damien. In their place was a half-blind boy, the engaged girl and the ginger girl from Five, all of whom would have been expected to go in the bloodbath.

Of course, brute strength was becoming obsolete in these Games, Clair thought as she fingered the ring on her right hand. When tributes had magic, they had little use for muscles. She couldn't have been the only one to have been given powers. Looking at the glass windows, there had been some rather unusual deaths. It was the Hunger Games, there were always strange deaths, but a few of them had raised her eyebrows. Two tributes had been engulfed by flames, though she had seen no fires in the mansion or in the ground. Lightning had killed Damien, though there had been no storm that day.

It didn't worry Clair though. She had her forcefields to protect her. Throwing around the elements did have a certain appeal to it, but she still thought she had the best power. It could save her life, kill her enemies, and it was just plain fun. She'd climbed to the roof of the church on invisible platforms of air and swept over the grounds like she was flying. She did want to get out of the Games, but she was certainly going to miss her Gamemaker-granted powers. As much as she liked life in District Three, she couldn't fly there. Only fall.

She stretched her arms above her head and spun round, her skirt billowing out around her. Since Robin's death, life in the church had got dull. She was fine there – it was a place to sleep and if she needed food then all she had to do was run to the orchard – but not much really happened when the glass wasn't putting on its show for her. Judging by the lack of sponsor gifts recently, the audience was feeling much the same way. Maybe it was time for her to shake the Games up again, to steal the spotlight once more. It was time for her to end them, to bring about a glorious finale and survive to take her bow.

She ran along the aisle, away from the broken altar. The church's heavy doors ached open and the chill evening wind whipped into her face. Her hair and dress blew around her in a manic dance as she turned to the mansion, a grin on her lips. It had been too long since she'd been there.

She wasn't scared of what she'd find in there, what brilliant and terrifying powers had been granted to the other tributes or the monsters that came from the abyss of a Gamemaker's imagination. As long as she had her forcefields she was untouchable. Invincible.

* * *

Valkyrie sat on the edge of the well, twiddling her fingers as she looked up at the dark sky with apprehension. The sixteenth cannon had gone off not long ago, and soon it would be the death recap, her chance to finally work out who she was in the final eight with.

She never really thought that she'd get this far. She'd wanted to, of course she had, but she could remember looking round the Cornucopia and seeing tributes stronger, faster, better than she'd ever be. There had been so many times that she'd thought she'd die. Rufus's ghost on the first night, scratching at the door as she'd screamed. Terra leaning in close to kill her, the cold of the pistol against her temple, ready to fire. Ade yelling at her, revolver at the ready, blaming her for his friend's death.

Against all odds, she'd survived, and still had an ally on her side, though she doubted how long that would last for. When Jack had died, Ade had been utterly furious. He'd shouted at her, threatened her, told her that she should be the dead one. She'd spent that night struggling to sleep under the kitchen table, not knowing if it was an ally or an enemy that slept in the next room. He'd calmed down since then, become less hostile, though he'd barely spoken to her. They hadn't left the kitchen much since then. Valkyrie would gather food from the garden, while Ade just seemed to lock himself in the bedroom.

She sighed and looked down at the dress that had been so beautiful when she'd first worn it. The silken bodice and fitted jacket smelt of sweat and her tiered skirts were torn and muddy from her work in the garden. She'd managed to get Terra's blood out of the skirt though, after what felt like hours of furious scrubbing.

If Terra hadn't moved at the last second, then Valkyrie would have struck her stomach rather than her arm. Jack might still have been alive, and the Games may have been different. Valkyrie wished that had happened, even if it would have made her a murderer. It would have been a small price to pay to get her old alliance back.

It had been Jack that held them together, both Ade and Valkyrie had known that. And when it was the three of them, with Jack's smile to counter Ade's cynicism, Valkyrie had felt confident, happy even. But that was in the past now. There was nothing she could do to bring Jack back to life.

She jumped at the sound of the door opening and turned to see Ade standing by the trellis, something in his hands. Two glasses. With deliberate steps, he walked across the garden to the well, and Valkyrie's breath caught in her throat. He looked different than usual – his expression softer, his face younger. Awkwardly, he held out a glass to her, and she saw that it was full of white wine.

"What's this?" she asked with a frown as she hesitantly took the glass.

"What do you think? It's wine." He sat down beside her on the well. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to poison you."

"I..." She couldn't say that she hadn't considered it. "I mean, why?"

"We're in the final eight. That deserves a little celebration at least."

She smiled, surprised and just a bit concerned. This didn't seem like the Ade that she'd known for the past few days.

"Thank you," she said.

Ade took a sip of his wine. "No problem. I found this stuff a while ago – I've been saving it."

Valkyrie tried some of hers. She'd never been particularly fond of alcohol, but even she had to admit that it was a very nice wine. "It's... It's good."

Ade drank about half of his glass in one go and his gaze dropped to the ground. "Look, Val... Valkyrie, I'm sorry about how I've been acting. It wasn't your fault that Jack died, I shouldn't..."

"It was." Valkyrie's voice was little more than a whisper. "I could have done something. I..."

"Someone was going to die that day, and it was him," Ade said. "If anyone should have been there, it should have been me." He took another deep drink of wine. "So I'm sorry."

"What's this about?" Valkyrie asked. "Why now?"

"Because I didn't do it earlier," Ade snapped. "I apologise, so you attack me with questions?"

"I... I wasn't..."

"I know." With an exaggerated sigh he slumped forward, running a hand through his hair.

Valkyrie glanced back at the trellis. Through the kitchen window she could see a bottle sat of the table, almost empty. That probably wasn't Ade's first glass of wine that evening.

"How did you do that?" he asked, surprising her.

"What?"

He nodded toward her glass. "Those bandages on your fingers. What happened?"

"Oh, those," Valkyrie said, swapping the hand that she held the glass in. She'd always been very self-conscious of her bandaged hand. "It was a fishing accident, a long time ago. The nails got torn off and I've covered it up ever since."

"No one would notice," Ade said, "if that's what you're worried about. They're more likely to look if they're bandaged."

"I know," she said. "But I... I just don't like having it exposed."

"Fair enough," Ade said with a shrug.

The anthem started and the two of them looked up at the clouded sky, waiting to see who'd died. Valkyrie audibly gasped when she saw Terra's face appear, looking down on them with a cruel glint in her eye like a sadistic child looking through a dollhouse window.

"Damn it," Ade spat as her face faded back into the night. "I wanted to kill that bitch."

Valkyrie almost wanted to agree with him, but mostly she was just glad that Terra was dead. Terra had been set on killing her, and knowing that the tribute with a personal vendetta against her was out of the Games was a huge relief. She felt a bit safer, even if she knew that she never would be in the Games.

"Final eight," Valkyrie said, not quite believing it.

"And we're the best ones left," Ade said, and she realised he was right. They'd both scored sevens in training, which was the highest score left in the Games. "I guess were kind of the Careers now, what with you being from Four."

"We're still allies then?" Valkyrie blurted out.

Ade raised an eyebrow. "Yeah – why wouldn't we be?"

"I don't know, I just thought..."

"Well we still are," Ade said with a slight smile. He finished the last of his wine. "And we're going to win the Games, Val." She didn't correct him."One of us is, at least. You got that?"

"I..." For some reason, Valkyrie felt a smile creeping onto her lips. "We'll win."

* * *

Riden hated her. That was the only explanation that Serene could think of as she limped through the maze of rooms, heading back towards the bedroom where her portrait hung on the wall. Before Damien had died they'd had loads of sponsor gifts, enough to keep them well fed and well armed. Now, all she had was her dagger – Damien had been carrying the other weapons when he'd been killed. Her stomach groaned almost constantly. The huge kitchen wasn't far from her room, but she had to drag herself down three flights of stairs to get there, and doing that with her injured leg was almost impossible.

She'd hurt it in the fight that Damien had been killed in. They'd ambushed the girl from District Eight, but her allies had shown up to defend her. She'd tried using her lumina spell against them, but it had had no effect. The Eleven boy's lightning bolts did. As soon as he threw one, she turned and ran. One scraped the back of her calf, sending shocks through her and frying the flesh. In blinding agony, she looked back in time to see Damien electrocuted as he cursed her. She'd managed to get away, despite the tears and the pain, and had collapsed in her room beneath the judgemental eyes of her own portrait.

Riden must have been blaming her for his son's death, refusing to send her the healing balm for her leg. Either that, or she just didn't have any sponsors. She doubted that, the gifts had been coming quickly while her ally was alive.

She missed him, more than she'd ever have thought she would. They hadn't been friends, at least she didn't think that they had been, but he'd been there for her. He'd guarded her while she was sleeping, taught her how to fight, spoken to her about District Six when she was homesick. He'd told her about his life, the girl that he looked after, his training with his father. Though he was from her district, his life had felt a world away from hers.

She couldn't have done anything to save him, but she still felt guilty. She could still see his face clearly, contorted in pain as sparks shot through him, sending his body into spasms. But his eyes had been locked on her, until they faded and the cannon went off. It felt like those eyes were still on her now, watching her through the Games. She couldn't blame Riden. He'd lost his son, and watched as a girl that didn't deserve it took his place in the final eight.

But she did deserve it. Her parents would mourn her as much as Riden mourned Damien. Her sister would cry as much as Damien's Grace. And she had survived, maybe not all by herself, but she'd made it this far. She could make it to the end. She just needed to prove it to Riden, so he could send her that blasted remedy.

She entered her room, walking as confidently as she could with her leg. She found the jewellery box, found the locket, the filigree heart. She hadn't thought about it since she had first found it, but now she felt like she needed to wear it. Carefully, she opened it, checking it was the same as it had been before. There she was, on the right, and Damien sat on the left. His eyes were cold and full of disdain, not those horrible eyes that had burned into her as he died. She closed the locket, and carefully removed the diamond pendant that her stylist had chosen for her ten days ago. The locket took its place at her throat, the gold icy against her pale skin.

She caught a flash of her reflection as she looked up, and saw the shine of tears in her eyes. Blaming the pain in her leg, she wiped them away. She hesitated before turning away from the mirror. Behind her, she could see her regal portrait, the same locket around its painted neck as around hers.

"Riden," she said quietly, then louder as she looked at the portrait. "Riden! I didn't kill your son, but I can avenge his death." Her hand rose to the locket. "I don't know if this'll mean anything to you, and I don't care. I'm doing this for me. I promise you, I swear on my life, Bliric will die for what he did." She swallowed, and her voice returned to a whisper. "I promise."

A clatter in the fireplace made her jump. She spun round, and saw a silver parachute settle in the hearth. Her heart leapt. She hadn't really believed that Riden would be listening to her, let alone decide to help her. She rushed over and picked it up, brushing off the charcoal dust of long-dead fires. It was a pot of ointment. Only a little, but enough to cover her wound.

When she spoke again, it wasn't to her mentor, but to the boy whose portrait hung at her neck.

"I'll make you proud."

* * *

"Bliric? Bli, it's your turn."

Sable looked across the chess set to where Bliric sat, head leant against one hand, his gaze flitting across the board.

"I know," he said. "I'm working out what to do."

Sable nodded and slumped back in her chair, looking at the chessboard without much interest. She hadn't been able to win a single game against Bliric, and she doubted that this one would prove to be any different. He thought about chess tactically, like a general manoeuvring troops, while she played on impulse, taking the pieces that she could and falling straight into his traps as a piece she'd overlooked would swing round and put her in chess. She still played, because there was little else that could be done to pass time in the arena, but she never hoped to win.

Rayne had been able to match Bliric in chess. It had been bizarre watching them play. Both of them were so many moves ahead in their minds it was like they were playing two games, one on the board in front of them and another one in a hypothetical future. Sable had barely been able to follow what they were doing, and would often end up reading a book instead.

She spun her engagement ring round her finger. It was a constant reminder of Tay, watching her, willing her to win. She'd thought that nearly impossible, but she was in the final eight now. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that she'd be the luckiest of the damned souls and be given the victor's crown. And she'd go back to District Eight and Tay would marry a murderer.

He felt so far away from her, like he was from a different life entirely, or a faded dream that she was struggling to cling onto. The long nights that they'd spent lost in conversation, the dragging hours that she'd spent by his bedside after his accident, wishing he'd wake, none of them felt as real as the arena. The arena that was the fakest place in Panem, shaped to the will of the Gamemakers.

Nine days, that was all the time she'd known Bliric, but he felt like he'd been part of her life for much longer. After all that they'd been through together, it was hard not to feel that way.

He'd come to her when Rayne had died, overflowing with sorrow and anger and frustration, like years of emotion that he'd forced back all came out at once. He'd cried into her shoulder, and when he was out of tears they'd sat together until the sun rose, just talking. They spoke about the Games, about Tay, about his life in District Eleven, and by the end of the night Bliric had been smiling. They both had.

When Terra's cannon had fired, the agreement that they'd made to split at the final eight, an agreement made with Rayne, went unmentioned and forgotten.

What was it about the final eight that was so important anyway? It was set up to make tributes feel like they had a shot at getting home, but there were still seven deaths to go before the victor left the arena. That was like the entire Games again. Even though Sable knew that, she still felt hopeful, even if it was only a small hope.

What the final eight was though, was a change in pace, a change in scale. The deaths would come quicker now. The mutts would get bigger, more twisted than ever before. But it wasn't just a change caused by the Gamemakers. Hope could do a lot to tributes, make them more desperate to win, more desperate to kill. With the Careers gone, Sable wondered who would take up their mantle. She had no idea. None of the tributes left had been exceptional in training, the best ones were only good. But if more people than Bliric, and the girl with the hands that had flashed but done nothing, had magic then that would change the dynamic of the Games. Bliric, with his score of a three, had taken down one of the predicted victors. Another 'weak' tribute could do the same, if they had a power like his.

Bliric slid his castle three squares to the left, and nodded to Sable. "Your turn."

"I... Oh right," she said, leaning forward and inspecting the chessboard.

Bliric gave a snort of laughter. "And you thought that I wasn't paying attention."

"I was paying attention! I was just working out what to do." Feigning confidence, she moved her bishop. "There, beat that."

"I think I'll rise to that challenge."

Without a moment's hesitation, he took her bishop with his queen. "And I believe that's checkmate."

"No it's not!" she said, eyes darting around the chessboard as she looked for a way out of check. "Actually, it is." She leant back in her chair and smiled. "Well done, good game."

"You're not even trying anymore," Bliric said as he began to return the pieces to their starting places.

"Do you think I ever really stood a chance?" she said.

"You just need to think a bit more," Bliric said. "Think ahead. Here, this time I'll help you."

"I think I'm a bit of a lost cause on this one."

"Well I don't. Just pay attention to what I do and you'll do better, I promise."

Sable sighed. "All right then. Don't go easy on me though. I'm going to win this fair and square."

Bliric smiled his crooked smile. "I look forward to it."

* * *

**Well, I think that was the quickest I've ever written a chapter for this. I haven't proofread it, so it's probably covered with typos and stuff, but I really enjoyed writing this. It was just nice to write these characters again.**

**There should be about ten more chapters of about this length – I'm going to give each remaining group of tributes a POV in every chapter. A lot's going to happen though, this chapter was a bit slower so that I could catch up with all the characters and show what happened in the timeskip in a bit more detail.**

**I hope you liked it! Seriously, your reviews are what make me write this. I love every one that I get, even if I don't reply to it.**

**Also, anyone got any music suggestions that fit with the fic/characters? I know I've asked this before, but my current playlist is getting a bit old, and I want some new stuff to listen to :)**


	25. Powerless

"Lumina."

The light sparked again, piercing the darkness and illuminating Serene's face into a map of light and dark. It hovered above her palm like a tiny star. After hours of practice, she was getting better at controlling the light. When she'd first used it, there had been a wild flash of light, flung out of her hands and filling the room. If she tried to sustain that then she got dizzy, and felt unconsciousness creeping up on her as black dots swum across her vision. So she'd tried to make it smaller.

It had been difficult at first, and still drained her, but now she could will the magic smaller and it would shrink into the tiny globe of light in her hand. She stared at it, her breaths coming quickly. It was strangely beautiful, in an ethereal way. Like flames dancing in a hearth, it caught her attention and held it. It would pulse brighter and fainter, gradually and slightly, like the beating heart of an ancient creature.

She closed her hand into a loose fist and the light shrunk into darkness. She was released from its strain and she slumped down, breathing heavily to drink in the air.

As pretty as the light was, it was useless.

The only time it had ever done anything was when she'd fought the demon. When she'd tried to use it against other tributes it had been nothing more than a harmless flash. Compared to Bliric, who could throw around lightning bolts at will, her magic was more of a curse than a blessing. Bliric's didn't seem to tire him the way that lumina tired her. He channelled it through that strange little orb of his, but that was hardly a hindrance compared to exhaustion that could push her to fainting.

She shifted on the ground, trying to find a relaxed sitting position without tangling herself in her skirts. There must be a use for the spell, somehow. They wouldn't have given it to her if it was useless against everything but mutts. She wouldn't stand a chance against Bliric if she couldn't utilise her so-called 'gift' in some way. And she had to defeat Bliric. She couldn't let him live, not now that she'd made the promise to kill him.

Since she'd whispered that, her mind had changed Bliric. To her now, that boy was the villain of the Games, rather than just a kid from District Eleven. If she killed him then she'd have avenged her ally's death and could go home a hero rather than a traitor who let her mentor's son die. She had to think that way, or it would be harder for her to actually do it. However she was going to kill him. If she couldn't find some way to utilise her power then she was just going to have to drive her dagger into his heart.

That would be harder. To be right there, to feel the crunch of bone, the warmth of blood on her hands, the splash of crimson on her dress, it would be so much more lucid than if all she had to do was raise her hand and wish him dead.

That was all he'd done to kill Damien. Like shooting a gun. Hand up, aim, fire. And Damien had fallen. Serene wanted to kill Bliric that easily and walk away without his blood on her as the cannon fired overhead. But because of the stupid Gamemakers and her stupid gift, she was going to have to get up close and personal to end that boy's life.

"Lumina," she whispered through clenched teeth.

The light flared up again. It must have a purpose, somehow. It was sitting there in her palm, teasing her, taunting her. It was powerful, she could feel that much, she just had no bloody clue how to use it. The answer was probably really obvious, and everyone in the Capitol was laughing at her as she sat there in the darkness, glaring at the light like it was a disobedient dog.

"Lumina," she said again.

The light got brighter, but still did nothing other than illuminate the room and pick out the tears that slid down her cheeks.

"Lumina," she hissed.

"Lumina," she pleaded.

"Lumina!" she yelled.

And then the light was too bright to look at. She yelled out in surprise and fell backwards, hitting her head hard against the wooden floorboards.

When she opened her eyes, the light was gone but the green ghost-image of the flash still lurked on her retinas, swimming and dancing across a ceiling that she couldn't see as she tried to blink it away.

She didn't try to get up. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion and her chest was rising and falling rapidly as she gasped for air. She closed her eyes, although the backs of her eyelids were no darker than the room around her.

As she drifted into sleep, she knew what she had to do.

* * *

_Day 11_

Ade groaned and rolled over in his bed, pulling a tangle of sheets up over his aching head. He'd never responded well to alcohol, and rarely drank when his friends did. It didn't take much for him to wake up with a hangover, and he could remember one time that Nabila had drunk him unconscious without appearing anything other than sober herself. Or at least he could remember other people telling him about it.

He opened one blurry eye and peered through his messy fringe to the other bed in the room, where Valkyrie should have been. It was strange not seeing her there – he generally made a point of getting out before she woke up so that she could get dressed in peace – but he'd slept in much later than usual, thanks to that cursed wine. He'd needed it though, to finally admit to Valkyrie that he didn't blame her. He'd meant to do that a long time ago, but he'd never got round to it, and it had been harder and harder to find an appropriate time to do it. So he'd downed the bitter wine and gone out to the garden.

He didn't hate her, though she seemed to think he did. She seemed almost scared of him sometimes, spending almost all of her time out in the garden, and finding excuses to leave when they ended up in the same room as each other. He'd given her her space, which she'd seemed to interpret as him pushing her away. Sometimes, the female mind truly baffled him, not that he'd ever made much of an attempt to understand it. Nabila had been the only girl that he'd spend any time with in District Nine, and she wasn't like the others.

There had been a time when he'd been angry at Valkyrie, when Jack had died, but he'd been more angry at Jack. He'd been too reckless, running in to save Valkyrie while Ade had been carefully lining up a shot at Terra's head. Jack had thought he was taking too long, but he'd only needed a few more seconds before he could pull the trigger. Instead, he'd lost his friend, and had almost lost Valkyrie as well.

He'd seen her working in the garden over the past few days. She was so determined to bring life back to the dying earth, while all he'd done was sit in his room playing endless games of solitaire with his dead friend's cards. He'd wanted to go out and talk to her, but couldn't ever quite bring himself to. She didn't want to talk to him – she'd immediately have suspected him of something if he'd even gone out there. Instead, he'd just look out the window sometimes, when he was bored of staring at the ceiling. He could remember the smile on her face as the garden had gradually changed from grey to green – the Gamemakers must have done something to the plants to make them grow quicker, but a lot of it had been down to her. He could remember the time he'd hastily drawn the moth-eaten curtains when he'd realised that she was washing by the well. He could remember the way that she sobbed herself to sleep, when she'd thought that he was already sleeping. And he could remember deciding that he had to apologise to her.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up, his head spinning. But he couldn't spend all day lying in bed feeling sorry for himself – like he'd said, it was the final eight, and they were effectively Careers now. He dragged himself out of bed and pulled on his shirt and waistcoat. He made some vague attempt to tame his scruffy hair before stumbling out into the kitchen.

Valkyrie was standing by the stove, cooking something in a large saucepan. Whatever it was, it smelt delicious. She jumped as the bedroom door opened, and turned to him, a faint smile on her lips. She hadn't smiled around him since Jack died – her eyes had been wide with fear every time he'd looked at her. Her white blonde hair fell past her shoulders, the curls that her stylist had put in reduced to tangles by the arena.

"I've made soup," she said, turning back to the oven as he slumped down at the table.

"Soup? Not exactly breakfasty, is it?" Ade didn't mind though. Valkyrie was a great cook, better than Jack had been. The food that she managed to assemble from the meagre supplies that had been in the kitchen and what she'd grown was surprisingly delicious – better than what Ade had eaten at home on most days. He couldn't remember ever telling her that.

"You look like you need it," Valkyrie said, pouring the contents of the pan into two bowls. "It'll help your head."

"How do you..."

"I've got an older brother," Valkyrie said with a smile as she sat down opposite him. "I know about hangovers."

"You've got quite a lot of siblings, right?" Ade asked, vaguely recalling a conversation that they'd had back when Jack was still alive. "Do you cook for them?" He drank a spoonful of the soup. Although it was a bit too hot, it tasted as good as it smelt. "They're very lucky if you do."

Valkyrie blinked twice, shocked by the compliment. "I... I do. I cook for everyone – Mum and Dad as well." She took a sip of her own soup. "What's your family like? I can't remember you mentioning them."

"You don't want to know about my family," Ade said with a hollow burst of laughter. "Well, my grandparents are all right. They're great actually. Parents... not so much. Though I doubt Father wants me telling the whole of Panem about how crap a parent he is. Not that that'll stop me."

Valkyrie's spoon paused halfway to her mouth. "I'm sure that he cares about you really."

"Really? He told me I deserved to get reaped." Ade's mind flashed back to reaping day. It felt so long ago, his family so far away. Part of him hoped that he'd have ended up missing his parents in the arena, to prove to himself that he still felt something for them. But one of the only good things about being in the arena was being away from Brogan.

"I..." She seemed to change her mind about what she was going to say. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be – it's nothing to do with you." He took another spoonful of soup, the pain in his head fading. "I'm guessing your family's something to fight for, then?"

She nodded assuredly. "Definitely. I can't bear the thought of losing them. Without me, they'd be... I don't know. I hope they'd be okay."

A long moment passed in silence before Ade looked up from his soup. "You scared of dying, Val?"

Valkyrie's eyes widened. "Who isn't?" She paused. "It's not death itself that scares me, I think. I couldn't leave my family like that. I'll... I'll kill to get back to them, even if it would make me sick to my stomach."

Ade wished that he could feel the same way. He wanted to get home, but for himself, not for other people. Their lives would all go on fine without him. They might get a bit depressed, but that would be it, the only impact his death would have. The cogs of District Nine would carry on turning without him. He wanted to get back though, to see his grandparents and friends, to prove to Brogan that he wasn't useless, to live. Valkyrie clearly had a lot of people depending on her. Without her there, maybe the Pyres' lives would be shattered.

"I know this sounds selfish," she said after a pause, "but I'm more scared of not living than of dying, if that makes sense. The world is so big, and I've seen so little of it. There's so much that I wanted to do before I die, things I'll probably never have a chance to now."

"What kind of things?" Ade asked.

"Oh, you know, just silly little things. I'll never be able to see the twins grow up. I'll never find a way to get a better job." She sighed and absentmindedly stirred her soup. "I'll never be able to buy a dress from the fancy shop in the town square." Her voice faded. "I'll never be kissed."

A laugh from Ade made her glare at him as a blush appeared on her cheeks. He stopped himself, realising it had been rather unthoughtful to laugh while she was coming to terms with her own mortality.

"What?" she snapped. "What's so funny?"

Ade shrugged. "I don't know. That's the kind of thing kids worry about. Are you seriously saying you've never been kissed?"

"Is that really so shocking?"

"Hey, there are thirteen year olds in long-term relationships in Nine," Ade said. "I just thought a pretty girl like you would have had at least a few boyfriends."

"What with work and my family and everything, I've never had time for boys." The edge had faded from Valkyrie's voice, but her body language was still closed off. "I wish I'd had, I really do, but..." She sighed. "I guess your first kiss was ages ago."

Ade laughed awkwardly. "I've got every girl in District Nine after me," he lied. "What with my looks and natural charm, I don't blame them."

Valkyrie giggled, her face breaking into a smile again. "Yeah right," she said. "Look, I know it's silly, but it's the kind of thing I worry about."

She gathered up the empty soup bowls and carried them over to the sink. Running a hand through her knotted hair, she leant against the side.

"So what's the plan for today?" she asked.

"Plan? Since when have we had plans?"

"You said yesterday that we need to step up our game from now on." Valkyrie rubbed her arm. "And you're right. It's death-a-day at least at the final eight, and we're going to have to start being interesting if we don't want to die."

"You mean we're going to have to start killing," Ade said, and Valkyrie went tense.

"Not necessarily..."

"We don't really have a choice." Ade stood up. "I don't want to, but you're right. We should leave this garden soon and... hunt for tributes. I guess."

"If there's no other choice," Valkyrie said softly. She pushed herself away from the sink and headed towards the bedroom door. "Just give me a minute, I need to find."

Ade watched her walk past, wishing that he'd still got some of the wine left. He was going to need it.

"Val, close your eyes."

"What? Why?" Valkyrie stopped by the door.

Ade gave an exasperated sigh. "Just do it. It's not like I'm trying to kill you."

"I..." Valkyrie looked like she was going to protest, but she reluctantly did as he'd said.

With more confidence than he felt, he walked over to her. He paused, still unsure of himself, then gently pulled her towards him with trembling hands before he could reconsider. Valkyrie gave a muffled squeak of surprise as her lips were pressed against his, but she didn't pull away. Slowly, tentatively, her fingertips settled on his cheek as if she couldn't believe he was there. For a brief moment, she kissed him back, and he wished that it could last for longer. But it was just a quick kiss, little more than a favour for a friend. It wasn't like he _felt _anything for her. He broke the kiss, staying close to her. As her green-blue eyes fluttered open and a crimson blush crept over her cheeks, he became very aware that his hand was still on her shoulder and quickly pulled it away.

Valkyrie looked down, her gaze darting all over the room, avoiding his eyes. "That... I..." She stumbled over incomplete thoughts. Her eyes met his for a moment and she gave a small smile before looking away again. "Where on earth did I put that hairbrush?"

She spun round, slipping into the bedroom in a flurry of white hair and turquoise skirts. Ade watched as the door swung shut, clicking into place and leaving him alone in the kitchen. He turned away quickly, trying to untangle the reason why he'd decided to do that. It wasn't like him. He and Valkyrie had only been speaking again for less than a day, and they hadn't exactly been close before that. What on earth had possessed him to kiss her?

There must be more alcohol somewhere in this damned mansion.

* * *

The Cornucopia's shadow loomed over Key as he walked into the courtyard. It felt so strange, being back here where they'd started. The courtyard still bore the scars of the bloodbath's battle. Bloodstains that had faded to brown splattered across the paving stones, the only memoirs of dead children. The few supplies that had been left after the bloodbath had been made worthless by rain.

The place gave him chills, as he looked around and remembered seeing the battle around him. Now, there was a strange sense of calm to it all. Although the wind whistled overhead, it didn't reach the courtyard. The golden Cornucopia glistened in what little sunlight there was and the water around it was as still as the air. Blank-eyed statues stood in the tangles of rosebushes, several of them deformed by weather and missing limbs. The few roses that managed to bloom were bright red, out of place in the courtyard like splashes of blood against a sepia picture. Above them, gargoyles looked down, their faces and bodies twisted as they lurched out of the gutters.

Ethine breathed in sharply as she looked around, and Key had no doubt that the memories were flooding back to her as they were to him. It was a sudden reminder that they were in the Games. Of course, they hadn't forgotten that they were in the Games, but they'd felt different. It had been slower, and the arena was so far from any before that it was difficult to relate it to the Capitol's sport. It was easy to forget that they were being watched by crowds that called for blood.

He walked over to the fountain, feeling as if he was in a dream. He gasped as he splashed cool water over his face. The water that they'd found in the mansion had been too precious to waste on washing. It was hard to know how long a tap would last for before it would run dry. Ethine cautiously approached him, unwilling to touch the water herself. Key was pretty sure that a girl had drowned in the fountain, but that didn't put him off.

He sat down on the edge and gestured for Ethine to join him, which she did. She winced as she accidentally put weight on her injured arm and quickly pulled it away from the fountain. She'd been brave – Key had half expected her to go into shock when she'd been shot, she'd clearly never been that injured before. But she hadn't let it faze her until Terra lay dead.

He couldn't think of Ethine as a killer. Not in the Games. In the Games, there were killers and there were corpses. If you couldn't kill then you couldn't survive. And he wanted Ethine to live. If she had to kill to achieve that, then that's what she had to do.

He was still surprised at how attached to her he'd become. When he'd first spoken to her, that awkward girl with the strange cube, sitting alone in the training centre, he'd never have thought that she'd be someone that he'd defend to the death. He wasn't at all hesitant when he said that. He'd protect Ethine with everything that he had. He'd fight any enemy, even kill if he had to, just to keep this strange, brilliant girl alive.

His brother had trusted him to protect him, and he hadn't. He'd let him go into that power plant, although he knew that it was dangerous. Brass had paid the price for his mistake. He wouldn't let the same happen to Ethine.

"Two weeks," Ethine said in a small voice. "That's all it's been. Two weeks ago I was in District Five."

Her words hung in the air for a moment before Key replied. "How much longer do you think it will be?"

"Not more than a week." Ethine shook her head. "They won't let it drag on that long. These Games have been going on for much longer than usual. If it reaches three weeks then I'll be very surprised." She absentmindedly twisted her hands together, although Key knew that movement put strain on her injury. "We're going to start dying sooner. Well, not us. Hopefully not us, at least. Tributes I mean. They'll bring out the big mutts, the disasters. It'll be more than twitching shadows. It'll be those things all fang and claw and hellish strength."

"They still burn," Key said. "We'll be all right, as long as we keep our wits about us."

"I won't lose my mind," Ethine said. "No matter what happens."

"You won't," Key said. "If there's one thing I can guarantee, it's that."

"I hope so." Ethine looked up at him. "You should learn how to use the fire."

Key's eyes widened. "What?"

"You made me use it – I want you to," Ethine said. "As well as me, I mean. It's easier to burn something to death than to slice it."

"I'm fine with my sword," Key said with an awkward laugh. "As long as I've got you then..."

"What if you don't have me?" Ethine said. "We're in the final eight now and, well, there's a pretty good chance I'll die."

"Don't," Key said firmly. "You're not going to die."

"You can lie to yourself but don't lie to me," Ethine said, her voice cracking slightly as if she was holding back tears. "It's the Games. One of us is going to have to die at some point, maybe both of us. And I want to know that you'll be safe without me."

Key had always thought of him as being the one protecting Ethine. And he had. He was the one with the common sense, who didn't blindly walk around as if he owned the place. He'd handled food and water. He'd kept them alive. But, whether he acknowledged it or not, Ethine was their fighter now. He could hold his own in a fight and could probably have won against Raylene. But his heavy sword would have been nothing against Terra's bullets. He'd have been dead before he could have it drawn. Against Ethine's fire, he was powerless.

Brains and brawn had switched places.

"I'd... I'd be fine," Key said with a weak smile. "No one else has your fire, it'll just be swords against swords."

"You can't know that," Ethine said. "What if I'm not the only one? They don't even need magic, Key, they just need a gun."

"It's a good thing that we won't be splitting up then," Key said, hoping to bring an end to the conversation.

"Stop it! Stop saying that." Ethine looked at him, and he caught a glimpse of tears in her eyes. "I want to believe you. I want to think that it's us against them, but it's not. It's me against everyone. It's me against you. No matter how much I wish, that's not going to change. We're in the Games. We can't both win. But if I can't, then I want you to."

"Ethine, I..."

"I know you don't want to, for whatever reason, but please, please learn to use the magic. If it would keep you alive for just a day longer, then it's worth it."

"If I can't win with you then I don't want to win."

Ethine stared at him, not quite believing what she'd heard. She must have thought that he was an idiot, to think that way, but he hadn't been lying. As much as he wanted to return home to his parents and sisters, he'd have to do it at the cost of Ethine's life. He didn't know if he could do that.

Before Ethine had a chance to speak, a hollow thud made her look up. Key jumped to his feet.

"What was that?" he said, his eyes darting over the silent courtyard.

"I don't..." Ethine stopped herself. "Key, the doors are closed."

"What?"

"I left the door open," Ethine said, turning round to check the walls behind her. "I'm sure I did."

None of the doors in the courtyard were open. They were blocked off from the mansion. Something was going on.

"Ethine, stay close," Key said, drawing his sword.

Ethine nodded.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"How could I know?" Key said.

Then the statue started to move.

Key couldn't believe his eyes. One of the statues, a woman in a draped dress, her face worn down by rain, turned to look at him with the sound of rock grating against rock. The rose vines that curled around her limbs like chains began to snap.

Key's mouth was dry as he started to talk. "Ethine? Ethine!"

The grinding noise was coming from all over the courtyard. He looked away from the stone woman for a brief moment to glance around. Four. Four statues, all slowly, ever so slowly beginning to move.

"Key?" Ethine said, her voice tinged with fear. "What can we do?"

There was a click that he recognised as her activating her wrist holster, allowing a little of the magic reagents to fall into her hands. A blast of heat slammed into him as she held a fireball at the ready.

As he looked at the statues, Key heard an echo of his own words inside his mind.

"_They still burn_._"_

This was going to have to be his fight.

* * *

Not much surprised Clair any more. Though she had been a little startled when she'd seen the gargoyle approaching her across the roof, she'd stood her ground. To be honest, she'd almost expected it to happen at some point. The mansion, the church, they were littered with the things. It would have been a wasted opportunity if they hadn't come to life.

Her eyes scanned over the creature lumbering towards her over the roof, leaving a trail of cracked tiles in its wake. Its stone face was somewhere between a man and a bird, with two ram-like horns curling backwards from its prominent brow. It travelled on four limbs, two humanlike arms and two rear legs that jutted out either side of it. Horned wings sprung from its back, but Clair had no idea if they could actually bear its weight or not.

She flicked her knife from her belt and faced the creature. Bracing herself against the wind, she checked that her footing was secure on the slanting roof. The tiles were still wet from previous days' rain. Not that it mattered if she fell – she could just activate a forcefield to catch herself.

The gargoyle stopped about ten paces away from her, and looked at her with eyes of cold stone as if daring her to move. And she did.

Activating a forcefield in front of her as a shield, she charged. The gargoyle raised a stone hand and brought it down on her. The forcefield took the blow for her, stopping the fist in midair. Grinning, Clair nipped round the side of the invisible wall as slashed out at the gargoyle. With a terrible screech like nails on a chalkboard, the knife pulled across the rock, leaving nothing but a tiny white line on the surface of the gargoyle and a blunt knife in Clair's hand. Thinking about it, she should have known that would never work.

The gargoyle's head swivelled round and it aimed another attack at her. She moved the forcefield just in time and the gargoyle slammed against air. Cursing, Clair threw the twisted knife aside and leapt backwards, trying to distance herself from her attacker. Her foot slipped as she landed awkwardly. The tiles grated against her back as she fell with a yelp. Quicker than she'd have expected, the gargoyle was by her. It drew its hand back to strike, and she was barely quick enough with the forcefield.

She rolled aside and released the forcefield, letting the hand thud down onto the roof, sending up a shower of splintered slate. Hastily, Clair scrambled to her feet, aching from her fool. Eyes glued to the gargoyle, she backed away, thinking more carefully about where she was treading.

How was she going to beat this thing? Forcefields were all well and good for defence, but she couldn't use them as a weapon. Knives were useless against a creature made of stone and her fists would be even worse.

She didn't have much time to think before the gargoyle turned on her. Quickly, she activated the forcefield. Not in front of her this time, on the ground. She jumped on and pulled her hand up, dragging the forcefield into the sky. If she couldn't fight the thing, she could at least get away. Unless...

She looked down through the empty air to where the gargoyle sat, looking up at her. With a crunch of stone, it stretched out its wings. They were huge, stretching for at least its body-length in each direction. Big enough to carry it – if it wasn't made of stone. Stone couldn't fly. It was too heavy. Clair would be safe in the sky.

But logic didn't always work in the arena.

"Bloody hell..." Clair muttered under her breath.

Stone wings beat against the wind and the gargoyle leapt into the air. It flew up and up, then stopped in front of her, still flapping its wings to stay in place, like a person treading water to keep afloat.

"You just really want to kill me, don't you?"

Clair activated her second forcefield and held it out in front of her. Having both arms occupied put her at a major disadvantage, though it was better than being crushed by a stone automaton. She couldn't keep it up forever. She needed to think of a plan, and quickly.

The gargoyle charged towards her, head lowered to aim at her with its horns. He crashed against the forcefield and Clair pushed her platform out of its way. It banked sharply and she cursed loudly as she struggled to stay on.

She managed to regain her balance and turned to face the gargoyle. Her eyes darted over the rooftops, searching for something, anything that could help her out. The wind ran through her hair, blurring her vision with streaks of blonde and roaring in her ears. But even over that she could hear the familiar groan of stone.

The gargoyle crashed into another forcefield and she zoomed out of the way, keeping her balance better this time. She was out in the open now. Below her there was nothing but air, and then the gravel of the formal gardens a hundred feet below. Breathing heavily, she looked back at the roof. Not one, but two gargoyles hovered in the air.

She swore again. Just one of those things was hard enough, but two? Had the Gamemakers set up a fight that they knew she could never win? They'd taunted her with the gift of the forcefields, then shown her that they were useless. No matter how good she was, the Gamemakers were always better than her. She might have felt like an immortal god with her gifts, but it was the Gamemakers who'd granted them to her. Maybe that's why they'd done this, to teach her to stay in her place. The audience must have been getting bored of her bullfight with the gargoyle for them to send a second one after her. They must have really wanted her dead.

Or maybe they wanted her to win.

An idea flashed in Clair's mind. A reckless, foolish idea, but those were her speciality. The smirk returned to her lips and the fear was gone from her eyes as she dropped the second forcefield.

"Come and get me," she whispered.

She shot her arm out in front of her and flew back to the roof, sweeping under the gargoyle that charged at her. Her heart was racing as she stopped some way above the tiles, far from both of the gargoyles. She dropped her arm, making it clear that she wasn't protected any more. Like those creatures even had brains – they were just controlled by Gamemakers in front of computer screens somewhere. Gamemakers who were about to learn that Clair Tomison didn't just die.

"Come and get me!" she yelled, the wind trying to steal her words.

The gargoyles charged. And she let them.

She let them fly, right up until she could see the specks of crystal in their stone surfaces, the scratches of weather and time. Until she could feel the beat of their wings through the air. Until she could look them in their cold, lifeless eyes and show them that she wasn't scared. That she was going to win the Games.

Then she dropped. She released the final forcefield and gravity remembered its roll. She plummeted towards the roof and tried to land in a roll as Robin had taught her to do. Still, the broken tiles scratched at her exposed arms and she cried out. But no bones were broken.

She rolled to one side and looked up at the explosion of stone, brushing her hair from her eyes. A primal roar like the loudest clap of thunder as the gargoyles slammed into each other.

As she lay there, the dust from the shower of broken stone falling onto her, she began to laugh. She clambered to her feet as the last of the dust and scraps of rock settled around her. Her eyes drank in the arena from her rooftop vantage, the muddle of rooftops concealing a maze of rooms. The morning light caught on her bloodied arms and messy hair. But she was alive, and nothing could wipe the grin from her face now.

It hadn't been a punishment, it had been a test. A test that she had passed with flying colours.

* * *

**Sorry there was no Bliric/Sable POV this chapter – I couldn't think of anything for them to do that wasn't boring. Next chapter will be their chapter though, I promise that. I'll give them both a POV segment :)**

**This chapter took a bit longer to write than I'd have liked, but I think it's all right. I haven't written action scenes for a while, so Clair's was a bit difficult. It was fun though, and I'm definitely looking forward to writing more action in coming chapters. And more cheesy romance subplots. I know that the Ade/Valkyrie kiss was a bit rushed, but I kind of needed it to happen. And I just wanted to write it. Hey, it's my story!**

**I'm putting another poll up on my profile, so go and vote for your favourite tributes! Seriously, I have no idea who's going to win, your opinions mean everything. On that note, I'm so sorry I didn't reply to any reviews, but I was utterly amazed by all the reviews I got last chapter – they were all so long and detailed! I love reviews like that, you honestly have no idea how much they mean to me. I promise I'll reply this time.**


	26. From Light

"That's the last of it."

Sable looked up from her embroidery as Bliric placed some dry bread and a little cheese on the table, along with a bottle of water. It was all that remained from when they'd raided the kitchens. Sable's stomach growled with hunger, but she tried to ignore it. If this was the last food that they'd have for a while then she'd eat it slowly, savouring every last crumb.

They hadn't eaten badly in the arena – probably better than they would have done in some districts, in fact. At first there had been food from sponsors, and when that had ran out they'd found their way to the kitchens. They wouldn't be doing that again. That was when they'd been attacked by that boy. Although he was dead now, Sable didn't want to risk going back. That place would flood her with memories – the cold eyes set to kill her, the sword splintering the table as she dodged just in time, the boy's body twitching long after his cannon had fired.

She'd never seen Bliric as angry as he'd been that day. The boy had attacked her while she was alone, and her screams had brought Rayne and Bliric running. Rayne had leapt to her defence, distracting the boy and his ally as Bliric fired his electricity. Bliric had seemed almost like a different person, his single eye alight with rage as he flung lightning bolts at the boy. Sable hoped she'd never see him like that again – ruthlessly slaughtering another tribute without batting an eyelid. Then again, if he hadn't done that then she'd have died back then.

When she thought about it, she really had been rescued quite a lot in the Games.

"We need a plan," she said, letting Bliric take his bread first.

"What?"

"Final eight." Sable put her embroidery to one side and took her own portion. "We can't just sit around here all day. We need a tactic, a way to win."

Bliric frowned. "That's going to be a little difficult in this arena."

"You've got to have some idea," Sable said. "Think about it like your chess games. There's got to be a move we can make that none of them have seen."

Bliric smiled, but shook his head. "With a normal arena, the key to success would be food and water. Here, that's more difficult. There are taps all over the mansion, some of them work, some of them don't. Food – there's the kitchens in this wing and the orchard – who knows what's in the rest of the mansion? I'm sure that all of the other tributes will have found their own sources."

Sable tore off a chunk of her bread and eat it. It was tough and dry, unlike the Capitol-baked loaves that she'd feasted on earlier in the Games. Still, it was better than nothing.

"That's what I'm saying," she said, swallowing the bread. "Everyone knows how essential water and all that is. There must be something they've missed – that we've missed – that we can use to our advantage."

"Sorry, Sable, I can't think of anything."

"You must be able to! It's what you're good at!" That won her another small smile from Bliric. "We're going to have to change tactics anyway, keep sponsors interested. They don't want to see me sitting around sewing and you reading those ancient books all day!"

"I find it interesting," Bliric said defensively.

"Of course you do, you can read those dead languages," Sable said. "But all the audience sees is us sitting still, doing nothing."

"I wouldn't call it nothing... I mean, look at that." Bliric pulled her embroidery towards him, careful with the silken threads like his touch might break it. "You made this during a fight for your life, that's pretty impressive, if I say..."

"Bliric," Sable said sternly, trying to scowl at him but finding her eyes still smiled. No one ever complimented her embroidery back home. In District Eight, being good at sewing was nothing special.

"Okay, okay, I get what you mean." Bliric took a bite of his bread. He chewed it slowly and swallowed it before he spoke again. "I just don't see how wandering around will help us win. We've got as much chance to find other tributes if we stay in one place. Not that I really want to meet other tributes anyway – I doubt any of them will stop to chat. They'll be a bit more interested in killing us."

"That's one way to look at it." Sable shrugged. "It would be good to get out of here for once though, don't you think? See the sights in the arena?"

Bliric gave a snort of laughter. "And to your left you can see more rooms. And to your right – you guessed it – more rooms!"

Sable glared at him. "There's loads of interesting stuff in here. We just need to find it."

"What I've seen of the arena so far has been highly dangerous, and a lot of it has physically tried to kill me. It's not exactly somewhere I want to see more of."

"Well if you stay in here then this room will kill you! That's what they do if you're dull." Sable finished her bread, worried by how quickly it had disappeared. "It wouldn't be too hard for the Gamemakers, you know. They just have to press the button labelled 'Rocks fall, Bliric dies' and splat! You'll be squished beneath a boulder."

Bliric blinked, clearly trying his best to appear unfazed. He knew she had a point, she knew he did. She always won arguments, and she wasn't going to give this one up until he'd admitted it.

"I doubt they have a button like that," Bliric said eventually.

Sable threw her hands down in frustration. "You know what I mean! They can kill you with a thought. That's all you are to them, a single speck of dirt on the gleaming table of existence. They'll sweep you away without any regrets."

Bliric met her eyes and for a long moment they were locked in a fierce battle of wills. Then he burst out laughing.

"The glistening table of existence?" he said. "Where did that one come from?"

Sable rolled her eyes. "Don't think you're escaping this conversation."

"Fine, fine." Bliric slumped back in his chair and finished the last of his bread. "We'll leave these rooms, go on your little adventure. You seem so keen, after all."

Sable's face relaxed into a smile. "Really?"

"I promise."

* * *

Valkyrie followed Ade through the corridors, staying a few steps behind him. They hadn't spoken much since the... incident... back in the kitchens. A frosty silence had settled between them – Ade had stopped asking for her opinion on directions a while ago.

She didn't like it one bit.

Ade hadn't been talkative before, but she thought that he'd been warming up to her. And then there had been the kiss. He'd taken her completely by surprise. She'd never have thought that he'd... that he'd what? The kiss had been a kind gesture, at least she thought it had. What had he meant by it? Why had he done it? Though the kiss itself hadn't been unpleasant, it raised hundreds of questions that made her head spin to sickness.

"Did it mean anything?" she asked in a quiet voice, when she realised that she was driving herself mad by worrying about it.

"What?" Ade didn't stop walking.

"You know what." Valkyrie rubbed her arm.

Ade shrugged. "Why does it matter?"

Valkyrie stopped abruptly, a spark of anger cutting through the concern. "What do you mean?"

Ade looked back at her over his shoulder. "It was just a kiss."

"_Just _a kiss?" Valkyrie snapped. "It was my first kiss!"

"Kisses are worthless," Ade said, turning to face her. "Unless you get them from those girls on street corners – then they're about half a credit." He laughed at his own joke as Valkyrie's eyes burnt into him.

"You can't mean that."

"Of course I can. Hey, Val, you should be thankful. I gave you your first kiss – you can die happy now."

"You didn't give me my first kiss!" Valkyrie's voice echoed throughout the still corridors. "You stole it from me. And it's Valkyrie."

Ade ran a hand through his hair and gave an exasperated sigh. "Look,_ Valkyrie_, I thought I was doing something nice for you. You wanted a kiss, I gave you a kiss. So whatever I've done wrong, I'm sorry."

"I didn't just want a kiss," Valkyrie said quietly.

"Then we could have done something more." Ade smirked.

Valkyrie's hand moved before she really thought about what she was doing. She landed a hard hit on his cheek and he staggered backward, clutching at the reddening skin as the smirk was washed away by surprise. Valkyrie lowered her hand, her palm stinging from the force of the impact. She forgot her own strength sometimes. She wanted to feel bad about it, but seeing Ade like that gave her a guilty sense of satisfaction.

"What was that for?" Ade exclaimed, still seeming more shocked than angry.

"It was just a slap, why should it mean anything?" Valkyrie shot back, her words bitter.

"Well it must mean something." Ade straightened his posture. "Like that you're angry at me for some stupid reason."

"For God's sake Ade, grow up."

"Says the person who hit me for no reason at all." Ade grimaced as he tentatively poked his injured cheek. "Fine, I give in. What's your problem?"

"What?"

"Why are you so damn angry that I kissed you?"

Valkyrie avoided his eyes, her burst of confidence fading rapidly. "A kiss should mean something," she said quietly, hoping that she didn't sound as naive as she thought she did. "It's about more than just the kiss. It's about the bond between people, about foolish feelings and... and... I wanted it to be perfect. I know that's stupid, but I wanted my first kiss to be something that I'd keep with me forever. A moment so perfect that I'd never let it go." She looked up at him for a moment, hoping to see a glimmer of understanding. "You didn't do anything wrong," she said. "The actual kiss, that was fine. That was more than fine. I'm... I'm sorry. I overreacted. I..."

"Don't apologise," Ade said, lowering his hand from his cheek. Valkyrie winced as she saw how red it had become. "I didn't know how much it meant to you."

Valkyrie shook her head. "I just attached too much value to it." She gave an empty laugh. "I'm like a child, aren't I? Stupid and delusional and not seeing the world for how it really is."

"If things didn't mean anything, then what would the point of life be?" Ade said with a shrug.

"That's not what you were saying just now."

"I know, but... It's why we're doing this, isn't it? It's why we're still fighting, why we won't roll over and die like good little pawns. It's for moments like that, for everything we want and everything we have."

"You were right before, you don't have to lie to me. Whatever meaning anything had, it's gone now. The Gamemakers decided that our lives were worthless when our slips were reaped."

"We are _not_ worthless." There was a flash of anger in Ade's eyes. "_You _are not worthless. The Gamemakers might think so, but I don't and neither should you. Don't you dare let yourself think that way, or you've let them win."

Valkyrie smiled. "You mean it, don't you?"

Ade leant closer to her, his voice little more than a whisper, but still with a power, a certainty that made it strong. "The Gamemakers, the Capitol, they can try and crush us. They have done, for a century, but have they succeeded? Almost, but they never will. Because for every thousand workers, the docile sheep that wander to their deaths on cue, there's someone like me. Someone like you, who's going to fight back."

"I don't..."

"You do." Ade smiled. "More than you think. You're resilient, Val, I'll give you that." His hand went to his cheek, which still looked as if it stung. "You've got a spark, and that's what we need to keep going. So yeah, that can be what your kiss means, if it must. It means I believe in you. I believe in us."

"Ade..."

"Now come on Val. We've got tributes to catch."

With that, he began to walk away, leaving Valkyrie stunned in the corridor. She didn't quite understand how her kiss could represent all of that – she knew that it didn't, really, he'd just said it to shut her up. But still... she could tell that Ade meant every word he'd said. She'd seen something in his eyes that was rarely there. A spark.

* * *

The fireball hit the statue like waves breaking on rocks, spreading wide in a shower of heat. The statue remained where it was, its worn face focused on the shaking Ethine.

"Key?" she whispered. "I... I can't..."

"Stay close to me." Key grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him, all too aware of the pulse that raced through her.

He looked around the courtyard, taking in the statues. There were four of them in total, one in each corner. There was the woman in the draped dress, her face mutilated by rain. Closest to Ethine was another woman, naked except for a wreath in her curled hair. One of her stone arms was missing and her grey skin was blackened by Ethine's fire. Another woman stood in the far corner, a harp in her hands. The fourth statue was the only male, some kind of god bearing a golden trident and a beard like sea foam

All of them were slowly moving towards the Cornucopia, their steps rigid with the awkwardness of a creature learning to walk. Key pulled his greatsword from the scabbard across his back. It was heavy, difficult to lift, but he could handle it. Years of working with metal had made him strong. Still, he doubted how much use it would be against the statues. They were made of solid stone – what good would a blade be?

They weren't invincible. These things bore scars – the missing limbs and the features warped by rain. They could be broken. Not by blade, not by fire, but there was a way to fight them. He just had to work out what it was.

"Plan?" he asked quietly.

Ethine shook her head. "Escape or fight?"

Key's gaze leapt from the statues to the locked doors. The doors were made of heavy, hard wood, difficult to break down, and difficult to reach past the statues. "You try the doors, I'll handle the statues."

Ethine gave a curt nod. "Good luck."

And she ran. Key shouted in surprise as she sped across the courtyard towards the nearest door. With the grind of stone, the statues changed their paths toward her. A grey arm reached out, grabbing the ribbon round her neck. Ethine yelped and her hands fumbled at her throat, trying to undo the bow. Key ran as fast as he could, the sword slowing him down and throwing him off balance as he charged toward the statue. Muscles screaming in protest, he rose the massive sword and slammed the pommel into the back of the statue's neck.

For a moment it stood, then a thin crack appeared, running round its neck. The head toppled from its shoulders and shattered against the paving. Breathing heavily, Key looked up as Ethine managed to free herself from the ribbon. The statue's body stood still, whatever semblance of life it had borne was gone.

Ethine looked over her shoulder, wide eyes meeting Key's for a second before she headed to the door again. The sword felt heavier than before as Key straightened and faced the remaining statues. The heads, that was where the power was. The single blow had taken a lot of life out of him, and the statue had been distracted when he'd attacked it. It wouldn't be as easy to take down the others.

His eyes fell on the trident in the god's hands. The tarnished gold glistened in the weak sunlight. It was metal, held loosely between stone fingers that had been morphed into mittens by relentless rain, and much lighter than his sword.

Key barely noticed the statue behind him. A stone fist lurched toward his head. Just in time, he managed to duck, the drag from the blow ruffling his hair. He drove the sword pummel back into the statue's stomach and let the sword drop to the floor, his arms aching from the blow. The statue didn't react and Key sprinted away, towards the god statue.

He reached out for the trident, both hands closing around it. He pulled back, but the statue was stronger. The trident was torn away from him, searing his palms, and he cursed. The trident swung toward him and he jumped back to avoid the blow. His foot skidded against the damp paving and he stumbled, trying desperately to stay on his feet. His scramble distracted him. He didn't notice the trident swinging towards him until the last moment.

He managed to sidestep the worst of the blow, but the three spikes caught his back, tearing through his clothes and leaving deep scratches on his skin. Crying out, he fell to the ground as Ethine screamed his name. Blinking back stinging tears, he looked across to the door where she stood.

"Stay at the door," he shouted as she made to run to him.

"It won't burn!" she yelled back.

"Find another way."

Reluctantly, she nodded and turned back to the door as he got to his feet, the cuts on his back burning. He ran from the god and narrowly missed another sweep of the trident. His hand closed round the hilt of his discarded sword and he stumbled back round to face the approaching statues. The cracks in one woman's stomach were doing little to slow her down. This wasn't a fight he could win. Unless he was lucky enough to get a blow to the throat, the statues were almost invincible. He wasn't. He tired, he bled, and he couldn't hold out for much longer.

But he would keep going for as long as he could, if only to give Ethine a chance to escape.

He backed away from the statues, and felt her by his side.

"Get back to the door," he whispered.

"No," she said. "I won't let you do this."

"So you'll throw your life away?"

"How is that any different from what you're doing?"

"Well... It..."

"Why?"

Key swallowed. "Because I can't let you die."

There was no response from Ethine for a moment, until she whispered. "Can you break one of the windows?"

"I... I should be able to. They'll catch us before we can get through though."

"No they won't," Ethine said, adamantly. "Go for the one on the left hand side behind us."

Key nodded and ran towards the window as the statues walked towards Ethine. She stayed where she was. What was she planning? She couldn't be trying some kind of last stand to let him escape, not when she'd chided him for exactly the same thing. She wouldn't do that, would she?

He reached the window and swung the hilt of the sword towards the dirty panes. There was a hissing noise behind him, and he spun to see Ethine, fire spilling from her hands, aimed not at the statues, but at the fountain. The fire danced onto the water, filling the courtyard with obscuring steam. So that was her plan. But did the statues even have eyes? What use would blinding them be?

The sword broke through the window as steam swirled around Key. Ethine emerged from the wall of mist, out of breath from the short run across the courtyard. Key bent down and offered her a leg up, which she gladly accepted to scurry through the window frame which was edged in shards of glass like the gaping maw of some creature. Ethine swore under her breath as the glass scratched at her hands and her arms, but she made it through.

She reached out with a bloodied hand to help Key through the window, and he accepted it, although she flinched when he touched the cuts. The scratches on his back screamed with pain as he pulled himself through the window. Allowing himself a quick glance behind him, he saw the statues appearing as the steam began to thin. He tumbled through onto the hard floor of the corridor, accompanied by a mess of blood and steam.

Hastily, Ethine helped him up and dragged him down the corridor, hand still locked in him. Behind, stone hands reached through the broken window, too late to catch them.

They ran into the nearest room and the door slammed shut. Ethine collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily as she stared down, wide-eyed, at the cuts on her arms. With horror, Key realised that he'd left the briefcase - and with it, all of their food, all of their medical supplies, all of their hope – in the courtyard. But they were safe, for now at least.

* * *

Serene ran down the corridor, her white dress flaring out behind her and threatening to trip her. She threw open the doors that she passed, sparing a quick glance into each of the rooms. Bliric wasn't in any of them.

Gritting her teeth, she ran quicker, feet aching as they slammed against the wooden floorboards. She'd left her shoes behind long ago, the heels did nothing but slow her down. She needed to be quick, there was a lot of ground to cover in the mansion, and she'd need to search it all if she hoped to find Bliric. He could be anywhere, but she was starting in the wing where she'd last seen him. Of course, he'd probably moved on.

Stitch bit her side and she stumbled to a stop in the great hall. A crystal chandelier hung from a ceiling painted with cherubs, and staircases swirled up the sides of the room to a balcony supported by columns. Gold leaf clung to the white walls, dazzling even under the dust, making her bright clothes drab in comparison. As she looked at the white-robed angels that danced above her, Serene couldn't help but compare herself to them. At the start of the Games, she'd almost looked like one of them, with her spotless dress edged in gold and her hair brushed until it shone. Now, she was a mess. The dress was torn and dirtied by dust and blood. Her hair hadn't seen a brush for days and kept falling before her eyes in a mad frizz. Where the diamond had once lain at her throat was a locket with a portrait of a dead boy.

If she'd been an angel at the start, then she belonged beneath them now, staring up at a ceiling which she could never reach.

Her breaths lurched through her as she doubled over, hands on her knees. She could usually run for much longer, but she'd fallen out of shape in the arena. She was much scrawnier than she'd been in District Six, and could endure much less. She'd never been strong, but she'd never have described herself as weak.

She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. They hadn't come from anywhere, just crept up on her. It put things in perspective, being in this hall of unblemished grandeur, tiny against the majesty of the staircases. She was nothing, apart from what she made herself. So far, all she'd become was a coward. And if she wanted redemption then she'd have to model herself as a murderer.

She looked up at the sound of footsteps, faint as they echoed around the vast ceiling. Standing at the top of the staircase, on the balcony, was Bliric. At first, she thought he was just a trick of a tired mind, but he didn't vanish with a blink. He was there, in the flesh, the boy that she had vowed to kill.

The Games hadn't been so harsh to him. His dual-coloured hair was almost neat and his clothes were clean. His thin face looked no more haggard than it had been when he entered the arena, but it was hard to tell with the twists of his warped skin. He was unarmed, apart from the translucent orb that he held. The orb that had something to do with his powers, the orb that was more deadly than any dagger.

He had the girl with him, the girl that had cost Damien his life. Her brown hair shone red under the light of the chandelier and she stared at Serene in a mixture of confusion and distrust. Did they not remember who she was? Had they really forgotten the face of the girl that they tried to kill?

A brief smile flitted over her lips as she stood up. She could play this to her advantage.

"Eleven," she called up to them, as if she couldn't remember the murderer's name. "You... Do you have any food?"

Bliric hesitantly took a step down the stairs. "It's too late in the Games for this."

She called the tears back to her eyes. "I... Don't kill me. Please. The arena will take me soon, just don't... You're no murderer."

"You know full well that he is!" Sable began to walk down the other staircase. "I know who you are, Serene. You were there when he killed Damien."

Then why hadn't they attacked her? Did they still think that she was harmless, even when they'd seen her powers? Of course they did. Her abilities were useless. Or so they thought.

Serene looked between the two of them. As they walked down the stairs with calm, controlled steps, she felt like she was being closed in on. Was it deliberate? Were they trying to trap her? She shook her head. They hadn't known that she'd be here – they couldn't have planned anything.

"I..." She turned to Bliric, eyes wide. "Don't do that to me. Not like how he died. I... I can't... I'm glad he's dead. I hated him, he was... he was cruel to me. I... Not like that..."

She glanced back to Sable as the girl drew a small dagger from her belt. Serene hadn't noticed it before – the blade had been hidden in the purple folds of Sable's skirt. She tensed and her hand rushed to her own dagger. It was bigger than Sable's, better quality, and she had some idea of how to use it. She had no doubt that she could win the fight if Bliric wasn't there. But he was, with the lightning that burst from his hands.

"Please..." she whispered.

Bliric adjusted his grip on the orb. "I'm sorry, Serene." There was genuine regret in his voice. "There's no room for second chances in the final eight."

She got there before him. Raising a hand aimed at each of them, she yelled 'lumina!' and light sprayed from her outstretched fingers. It leapt around the room from white to gold, brighter than she'd expected, dazzling them. She blinked, but couldn't see through the light – it was like looking at the sun.

She drew her hand back and threw the dagger in Bliric's general direction. She heard a yell from him, and then a bolt of lightning dashed through the fading light. She leapt aside as it seared the floor.

As the light died down, still staining her vision, she caught a glimpse of red on Bliric's sleeve where the dagger had skimmed his flesh. It lay behind him, a trail of blood linking him to it. He looked up, anger flashing in his eye.

Footsteps charged behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Sable running towards her, knife drawn. Bliric raised his orb, aiming another claw of lightning at her. She sidestepped and the tendrils of electricity shot past, almost hitting Sable. Bliric cursed and she ducked a swing from Sable's dagger. Like a striking cobra, her hand leapt up and grabbed Sable's arm. She twisted and Sable cried out, dropping the knife to the ground with a clatter of steel.

Not letting go of Sable, she stood up and yanked the girl's arm behind her. She held Sable out, a shield between her and Bliric. She hadn't planned to take down District Eight as well as Bliric, but it couldn't hurt to get it down to the final six. Besides, if she left Sable alive then she'd want revenge, and Serene knew revenge well. It could make you into something that you never wanted to be.

Adrenaline buzzed through her and she grinned. It was strange, feeling the girl's fear, almost hearing Bliric's mind whir as he tried to think of what to do. But it was empowering, as much as she hated to admit it. She had control of the two of them, the choice of life and death. She could make them do whatever she wanted.

Carefully, she laid her spare hand over Sable's eyes as the girl struggled to escape. Serene pulled her back, strengthening her grip. Sable yelled as Serene twisted her arm further. She was close to breaking away. Though Serene's hold was secure, Sable was the stronger of the two. She couldn't keep up the hostage act for much longer.

"Let her go," Bliric said, surprisingly calm, not lowering his orb.

"No," Serene said with a smirk.

"We'll give you our supplies," Bliric said. "You can go free."

Serene laughed, a low, hollow, laugh. "You don't get it, do you? I don't want freedom, I want revenge. I want to see you die, Eleven." She nodded toward the dagger that lay behind Bliric. "You want Zinith to go free? Pick that up and drive it into your heart."

For once, Bliric's calm facade wavered. He didn't have a plan. He was beaten.

"Don't, Bli," Sable said. Serene twisted her arm and she screamed. "Don't! Kill the bitch!"

"Sable, I..."

"Just shoot!"

Hand shaking, Bliric aimed the orb. Was he really going to..?

Serene needed to move.

"Lumina," she hissed.

Her palms flashed white. Sable let out a blood-curdling cry as Serene didn't release the hand over her face. She held it there as Sable screamed, finally releasing it as the girl fell to the ground, crying and pathetic.

She leapt aside and a lightning bolt slashed over Sable's head.

"What have you done?" Bliric shouted, pure fury burning in his eye. "What did you do?"

"A pity you'll never find out."

Serene jumped out of the path of another lightning bolt. One down, Bliric to go. She just had to find a way to get close enough to him. Her dagger was too far away, she couldn't risk running to it. Sable's however...

She sprinted toward the knife. Though it was small, it was still sharp, sharp enough to kill a one-eyed child.

She gave a cry of surprise as a hand grabbed her skirt, pulling her down. She looked over to see Sable, shuddering and weak, but with a twist of white cloth in her hand.

"Do it!" Sable cried out.

No... No... She wasn't going to die here, brought down by the girl from District Eight. With a scream of frustration, she made one last desperate grab at the dagger.

Her hand never reached it. He fingers were convulsing before they touched the handle. Silver shots of electricity swum across her skin like fish. It was agony. She felt herself burning, hot as her body was sent into painful shivers. The world went white again, like it had with her light, but she knew that, this time, it would never clear.

* * *

"Sable!" Bliric shouted as the cannon echoed around the arena.

He rushed to her side, where she lay beside the twisted body of Serene Asire. She was sobbing, clutching at her face while one hand still gripped the skirt of the dead girl, as if she was frightened that Serene would come back to life. Bliric crouched down beside her, letting the orb roll away as he cradled her body in his arms. She gave a surprised yelp.

"Bli... that's you..." She reached up and ran a hand over his face, pulling away as she reached his scar. "She's dead. You killed..."

"We killed her," Bliric whispered, blinking away tears as he looked down at Sable. Her dark eyes had gone milky, glazed over. She stared up at him, but did not see.

"Don't give me credit," she said. "I don't want it."

Bliric pulled her away from Serene's body, with one last glance back at the corpse. What had driven her to become like that? Had she really cared so much about the boy that she'd become a monster to avenge him? She'd seemed so different from the girl he'd seen in the interviews, barely clinging on to her sanity, enjoying the pain that she was causing.

What made him any different from her? What gave him the right to judge her as a monster, when he'd taken the life of both her and her district partner? He didn't know. Somehow, he still thought of himself as the one in the right. He'd always killed for someone – always killed for Sable, he realised. But so had Serene. She'd wanted him dead for Damien's sake. Was that different?

"I'm dead, aren't I?" Sable closed her eyes as she leant back against a pillar, still shaking.

"I won't let..."

"Bli... I can't see," she said. "The blind don't win the Games. I... I might be alive now." Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as blank eyes stared ahead. "But I've lost. I know I have."

Bliric took her hands in his, felt the cold of the engagement ring against his palm. What did Tay think, as he watched this back in District Eight? Did he blame Bliric? If he'd managed to kill Serene earlier then she wouldn't have had the chance to...

"You haven't lost," Bliric said. "I remember my accident, how horrific it was when I first lost my eye. But I adjusted, and so will you. We will survive."

"With one eye between us?" Sable gave an empty laugh.

"They'll fix your vision if you win," Bliric said. "And you still can. And you'll be able to see yourself on your wedding day, and... and you'll be beautiful."

She pulled her hands out of his, only to throw them around him. She held him close to her, face buried in his shoulder. Tentatively, he hugged her back.

"You're such a good liar, Bliric," she whispered. She was either crying or laughing, he couldn't tell. Maybe both. "I... I'm sorry you're left with me. I'm sorry you need to rescue me all the time. You should have..."

"I won't leave you. I promise."

Sable let go of him, a sad smile on her lips as she looked up at him. She ran her hand over his arm and he winced as she touched the knife cut.

"I forgot, Bli," she said, pulling her hand away, blood glistening on her fingertips. "I'm sorry... give me a moment to recover and I'll bandage that for you."

"Don't worry," Bliric said, covering the wound with his hand. "I'd almost forgotten about it myself."

He wasn't lying. Life in District Eleven had taught him to deal with pain. The majority of the dagger's force had gone into cutting through his coat and shirt, leaving only a thin, clean cut on his skin. He'd had much worse just working in Eleven – thorns as long as a knife that would rip through flesh, leaving jagged scars. He could almost block it out after so much time. The cut on his arm stung, but it wouldn't kill him. He'd get over the pain.

"Five left." Sable closed her eyes. "And us. That's all now." She sighed. "Bli... if I don't make it..."

"Don't..."

"Shut up and let me talk," Sable snapped. "I just want to know... Bli, can you promise me something?"

He nodded, though she couldn't see. "What?"

She pressed something into his palm. He looked down to see a small band of silver, a ring stained by his blood that had been on her fingers.

"Take this back to Tay, if I don't make it. It must have cost a lot, and... Just tell him I love him."

"You can tell him yourself."

He tried to pass the ring back to her, but she pushed it away. "You know I only said 'if' to make you happy. I don't want the ring to stay in some autopsy room. I want it to go home, back to him. And if you can't manage that... I want you to keep it."

"Sable... do you remember the first time we met? You showed me the ring, told me it was a promise to win the Games, and that promise was all you had. You can't leave that..."

"It's not all I've got any more." Sable smiled. "You're here now."

"Sable, I..."

"Keep the ring, Bliric. You deserve it, after all you've done for me. But don't think that I've stopped fighting. I'm going to play this game, even if I know I'm going to lose."

Bliric smiled, tears forming in his eyes as his fingers closed around the ring. Sable hadn't died with her sight. She was just as strong as ever.

* * *

**I'm really sorry about how long this one took – I've been away for two weekends and really didn't have any time to write. I'm still not happy with how this turned out, the writing's far from my best, and I'm sure it's riddled with spelling and grammar errors. Still, I'm glad I got it finished. I had major writers block when it came to the statue fight in this chapter, unlike the gargoyle fight in the last one which came really easily.**

**I hope you enjoyed it though! It was a pretty major chapter after all :) I can't wait to see what you all thought about it.**

**Just a quick warning, I'm not going to be updating in November, because of NaNoWriMo. I'm going to get some more chapters out before then, though.**


	27. Bonds

The cannon made Ade jump. Valkyrie looked up at the ceiling, wide-eyed, as if she was expecting to see the face to appear there and then.

"Another one gone," she said, her voice faint.

"Another one we didn't kill." Ade took a bite of the apple that he'd been eating. "We better find some of them soon."

"The Gamemakers will push us towards each other," Valkyrie said. "This late in the Games, they want us killing each other. Not mutts." She sighed and closed her eyes, shoulders still tense. "There's only five left now, that aren't us. That's... there were twenty-two others at the start."

"And I haven't killed anyone since the bloodbath."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"I..." Ade hesitated. Of course it was a good thing. He didn't want to kill, not really. He knew that he had to – it was the only way that he could win the Games, after all. No one left the arena without blood on the hands, and it was normally the one with the most kills under their belt that won. That didn't mean he looked forward to killing. He wanted to get it over with, wanted to go back to Nine as a victor and not a corpse, and he'd hunt down the other tributes if that was how he could achieve that. He took no pleasure from killing, not like some of those sick Careers that he'd seen before, like the one he'd shot on the first day. "No. It's not a good thing. To win this, we've got to kill. You want sponsors, right? Of course you do. I won't be surprised if they're made our only source of food soon." He turned the apple over in his hand, the fading light glistening on the sickly skin. "And they don't support people who don't do anything. Neither do the Gamemakers."

He took another bite of the apple and forced himself to swallow the sludgy flesh. None of the food in the garden had grown particularly well, but it was food. As foul as the apple may be, it would still keep him going for another day. He threw the apple core against the far wall of the corridor. It left a blur of yellow-brown on the stone.

"I need more bullets," Ade said when Valkyrie didn't reply. "Sponsors are the only place they're going to come from, and they're not going to give me ammunition until I've shown that I can shoot. What about you? You've got your axe, but..."

"I could do with a spear," Valkyrie said. "I can just about use the axe, but I'm actually all right with a spear. If you really want me to... to kill... then I'd be better off with one of those."

"I'll keep an eye out for you," Ade said. "I'm sure it'll be easier to find a spear than bullets."

Valkyrie gave a shallow nod and pushed herself away from the floor. Dress trailing behind her, she wandered across the corridor to the window. Darkness had begun to consume the gardens, and the dirt on the panes blurred her vision further. The only thing approaching clarity was her reflection.

"Where do you think they are?" Her voice was quiet. "We've been walking for hours and we haven't..."

"It doesn't matter where they are," Ade said, standing up. "You were right – the Gamemakers will force us toward each other, somehow. It's what happens."

Valkyrie laughed so faintly he barely heard it. "Should we really be discussing their tactics so loudly when they can hear us?"

"They might steal our ideas!" Ade said, leaning back against the wall, hands in his pockets. "It doesn't seem like a tough job, does it? They're so predictable they might as well be machines."

"I don't know." Valkyrie turned away from the window. "Machines might have a bit more compassion."

Ade smiled. "You're right there."

"How can they do it?" Valkyrie said. When Ade looked up, her eyes weren't on him but faced the floor. Her words seemed more aimed at herself, aimed at no one, than aimed at him. "How can they just sit there behind their computer screens and let us die? Do they not see us? I know they do. They hear me talk, they see what I do, when I'm scared, when I'm hurt, when I'm happy. And then they still... they still..."

"It's what they make us do," Ade said with a shrug. "When I aim and fire, I forget that the guy on the other end is a person. They're just a target."

"It's not the same." Valkyrie shook her head. "You aimed at me when we first met, you were ready to shoot then. But now that you know me, you couldn't, could you? At least I hope you couldn't."

"Don't worry, Val, your personality's not that bad."

"So you couldn't do it?"

"That's what I said."

"No matter how much you pretended I wasn't a person? Pretended I was only a target?"

"Probably not, no."

He couldn't. No matter how much he tried to think of Valkyrie as that anonymous girl he'd seen by the well, he couldn't do it. She was Valkyrie now. He knew her quirks – the twitchy agitation of her hands when she was nervous, the sadness in her eyes that vanished when she truly smiled. When he looked at her, he saw everything that had happened, heard every word that she'd said. And he'd see all of that if he was looking at her down the sights of a gun. The only time he'd pull the trigger would be if he also saw victory.

"The Gamemakers have seen everything I've done," Valkyrie said. "They know me. They know us. And they're still going to kill us. It's not a matter of survival for them, it's just entertainment. That's... that's the only reason I'm going to die. There's a crowd baying for my blood. What am I to them? I'm less than human."

"You're not less than human," Ade said, eyes meeting hers. He caught the glimmer of tears that she was trying to hold back. "They are."

"Stop talking like that," Valkyrie said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "They'll never let you win if you say these things."

Ade gave a low laugh and Valkyrie's eyes widened in surprise.

"I'm serious..." she began.

"No one's going to _let _me win, Val," Ade said with a slight smirk. "They can try and stop me, but I'm going to win because I can. I'm going to win because I have to."

* * *

Sable stumbled through the darkness, gripping Bliric's arm tightly. If she let him go then there was nothing in the world except her. He was her anchor, keeping her steady while everything else was chaos.

But it wasn't chaos. It would have been better if it had been, but all it was was empty. Nothing but darkness whichever way she looked. The silence of the mansion was suffocating, punctuated by footsteps on a floor she couldn't see. She kept her eyes closed. It was better that way – she could pretend that she could open them and the mansion would flash back into view. But it didn't. The darkness stayed, even when her eyelids were as wide as she could make them.

It was terrifying, made worse by the fact she knew that her life was on a timer now. No matter what Bliric said, blind people didn't win the Games. She'd die, alone and afraid in the darkness, not knowing what it was that caused her demise. Bliric could stab her in the back there and then and she'd never know it was him.

She knew he'd never do that. Bliric was a fool, and she was eternally grateful for it. Anyone who wanted to survive would have left her in the great hall, screaming in pain as her retinas burned. She wouldn't have blamed him if he had done – she was just a dead weight now, after all. He'd stayed with her then, and she knew that he was going to stay with her until the end, no matter how much she willed him not to.

He had her ring. It felt like a weight had left her chest when she'd taken it off. The ring was a promise she'd come home, and she knew it was a promise that she'd never be able to fulfil. It was better that she broke it now rather than with her death. She hoped that Tay could see that. The thought of him watching her, helpless as a newborn, and still praying that she'd come back, convincing himself that she would, broke her heart. She'd told Tay from the start that she wasn't going to see him again. She just wished that he finally believed her.

Tears stung at the broken spheres of her eyes and she forced them back with a choked gasp.

"Are you all right?" Bliric asked, his voice a shock.

_No, I'm not. I'm never going to be all right, not after this. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want this to end. You're lying to me, you're lying to yourself. You're an idiot, an utter fool, and I can never thank you enough for it. _

"I'm fine," came her reply.

"It's getting late," Bliric said. "We should probably think about turning in for the night. There must be a bedroom around here somewhere..."

Sable shook her head. "I don't want to stop." _I don't want to let you go._

"You need to rest."

The thought of lying alone, swathed in claustrophobic sheets, filled her with dread. Something could happen in the night and she wouldn't be able to see it. Bliric might not wake in time to help her. Or to help himself. Losing Bliric would sting a thousand times worse than losing Rayne.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight," she said. "It's better if we just keep going."

She took another step, but was jerked backward as Bliric stopped.

"Sable, you can't do this."

"I can and I will." Sable didn't let go of her arm. "I want to keep walking, so we're going to keep walking."

"We're not going anywhere," Bliric said. "All we'd be doing is wandering the corridors. You know what this place is like at night, it's not safe."

"It's never safe," Sable snapped. "It's the arena."

"I... Sable, why..."

"Just..." Sable wiped tears from her eyes. "I can't stop, Bli. It feels like if I rest then I won't be able to get up again, like I won't be able to carry on."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I know, but... I don't know. I just want to carry on walking."

"Trust me, you need a break. You look like a wreck."

"I don't think I'm going to worry much about my appearance from now on. Your concern has been noted though."

"Sable, I'm being serious."

"Yeah, so am I."

"What's got into you? You're not normally..."

"What do you think's gotten into me? This morning I could see, now there's nothing in the world except me and you." Her fingers trembled as they clutched at his sleeve. "What do you think that's like? I... I know you understand more than other people, but you've just lost depth perception. I've lost _everything_."

"I understand." Bliric's hand settled on her arm, soft enough to not make her jump. "Trust me, I do. But I don't see why you don't want to rest. I'm not leaving you, Sable. I just think that you need to sleep."

"If I sleep I'm wasting time," Sable whispered.

"What?"

"I'm wasting time," she repeated. "I'm going to die, Bli, I know that, you know that, really. It's going to happen soon – they'll get bored of me and I'll... My life is measured in hours, and I don't want to waste them asleep."

"I wouldn't say that that's wasting time..." Bliric sighed. "It's the only time you can think you're safe. You'll dream, Sable, and in your dreams you'll be able to see again – District Eight, the people you love, you'll have them all back. You'll be happy. I wouldn't call that a waste of time."

He was right, of course he was right. In her dreams, she'd have her sight. She'd have a world back, even if it was one made only of illusions and memories.

* * *

Clair's feet padded soundlessly down onto the cracked pavement as she waved the forcefield out of existence. She'd become so used to hovering around on the things that it almost felt strange to be back on the ground. It was especially strange to be in the shadow of the Cornucopia again. The golden horn had an ethereal glow to it as the moonlight caught on its lip. It had seemed only right to Clair that she went back to the courtyard to start her hunt.

It looked like she hadn't been the only one.

She'd expected there to be blood – dark stains on the paving. But, in the moon's half-light, her eyes picked out the red gleam of fresh blood. There was a little on the floor, but what caught her eye were the scarlet stains on a golden trident.

She walked to the statue with a light spring in her steps. As she looked into the stone god's eyes, she gave a small smirk. Maybe her gargoyles weren't the only statues that had enjoyed a brief flash of life. It would explain the cannon that she'd just heard – not everyone had the gifts that the Gamemakers had granted her, of course. Unless...

She turned and looked at another statue. The front of it was charred black. It was more than just staining or natural colouration in the rock. It looked like it had been hit by a blast of fire, as if from a flamethrower. Clair didn't think that the Gamemaker's would have left a flamethrower lying around – it didn't exactly fit with the theme of the arena. But it was possible that there was someone else like her, blessed with flame rather than force. It would certainly explain the fires that had consumed two of the tributes in the stained-glass windows. Clair smiled. If there hadn't been other tributes with powers, winning the Games would have been far too easy. Now she had a small challenge, at least. When push came to shove though, her forcefields would overpower anyone who thought they could win by throwing fireballs.

She pressed gently on her ring and pushed her palm out, sending a forcefield zooming towards the scorched statue. The invisible wall collided with it and it toppled, smashing against the ground. The sound of the collapse echoed around the courtyard as the statue split into grey blocks of stone. Any semblance of life that it had once possessed was well and truly gone.

Clair winced as she lowered her arm. The scratches she'd suffered on the roof were really beginning to hurt now. The skin was somewhere between cut and scab, cracking painfully when she moved. She hated that it stung so much – they weren't even deep scratches, they were barely more than grazes. Victors didn't hurt, not unless they'd got their leg cut off or something. A real victor should barely register the cuts on her arms. They'd heal soon enough, and they wouldn't even leave any impressive scars.

She wasn't a real victor. She was a fourteen year-old girl from District Three, not a hulking eighteen year-old from District Two. And yet, she'd outlived them. The Careers, everyone who should have won, didn't even reach the final eight. She did. Just because she wasn't like them didn't mean that she couldn't win.

Her eyes drifted to the corner of the courtyard, to a dark bloodstain beside a tangle of rosebushes. She didn't know how she even saw it in the dying light, but it hit her hard. That was where Cloud, her doomed ally, had died, barely a minute into the Games. As her eyes settled on the blood, she was suddenly back at the bloodbath. Her blue dress was still pristine, not a bloody, torn mess. She was shaking as she looked at the arena for the first time; saw the other tributes in their evening wear. She was a human – a scared girl who didn't expect to live, not someone with powers of magic. And she watched as he died, her ally, her friend. He met her eyes as the Career's knife plunged into him, and his name caught in Clair's throat as she tried to run to him. But she couldn't. She'd turned and sprinted as far away from that golden battlefield as she could.

He still meant more to her than Robin ever had. She'd teamed up with Cloud because she liked him. He was fun to be with – they'd laugh and smile and pretend that they weren't going to be thrown into the arena. Robin had been a tactical alliance. Robin's skills had benefitted Clair enough to make her put up with her personality.

Clair hadn't cried when Robin had died, mostly because she was the one that had caused it. Cloud still made tears sting her eyes. Sobs rose in her throat as she looked over at where he had died. She'd done nothing – there was nothing she could have done – and now he was gone. They were all gone. Seventeen tributes had died in this mansion. If Clair wanted to win, she was going to have to kill more.

She'd been so confident, so sure. The Games had become exactly that – a game. It was fun, flying through the air, fighting the Gamemakers creations. So much fun that she'd almost forgotten what the Games really were. Now, as scratches screamed in her flesh, salt stung her eyes, and her mind replayed the death of her friend, she saw the truth again. She would never be winning this game, not really. No matter how much power she felt she had, it wasn't truly hers. It never had been. It belonged to the Gamemakers. They weren't even loaning it to her. These forcefields that jumped at her commands, they were nothing more than smoke and mirrors. If the Gamemakers wanted, they could stop the forcefields from appearing just as easily as they summoned them.

Legs weak, Clair stumbled backward and slumped against the wall of the mansion, alone with the blood and moonlight. She didn't even try to stop her tears, just let them come freely for the first time since the Games had begun.

She'd have given up the forcefields willingly if it could have meant she'd keep a friend by her side.

* * *

Ethine stared at the dark ceiling. The bed was soft against her back, threatening to pull her into sleep, but she wouldn't let it. She focused on the pain to stay awake, the now-dull pain of the scratches on her hands and forearms that she'd suffered clambering through the window. Key had treated her wounds as best he could without the medical supplies, using a make-shift bandage from his torn-off sleeve. She'd tried to stop him, she'd known that the cuts would heal. His own injuries had been much worse, causing him to grimace in pain even as he tied the cloth around her arms.

Wincing as she placed her weight on her arm, still acutely aware of the bullet wound that she'd suffered fighting Terrana. She peered down over the edge of the bed at where Key lay on the floor. Three deep cuts were gouged into his back. The trident had torn through his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, leaving his back as a tattered, bloody mess of fabric and flesh. Somehow, he'd managed to fall asleep, though she knew that the wounds hurt him more than he'd let on. There was no way that they wouldn't.

Ethine hated herself for what she was about to do. Key had sacrificed so much to keep her alive. Too much. She didn't deserve it, she'd never asked for it. He was throwing away his own chances at victory for her. She'd been apprehensive about an alliance – she'd been worried that she'd be betrayed. This was worse than that. She remembered his words in the courtyard: _"If I can't win with you then I don't want to win."_

He was so loyal to her, risking everything, and she hated him for it. Except she didn't.

She'd finally worked out how to put into words how she felt about him, how she thought he felt about her. It terrified her. And it had forced her to make the decision that she'd never wanted to make.

She pushed the duvet off of her and swung herself off of the bed, careful to tread lightly on the floorboards. The moonlight caught her reflection in a dusty mirror and she found herself looking into her own eyes, still bright green in the dead light. Her hair had fallen from its ponytail and into her eyes, messy and greasy. Tear tracks glistened on her cheeks, although she couldn't remember crying.

Why would he give so much for _her_? She was nothing, plain at best, quiet and awkward. He... She wished he'd never spoken to her on that day in the training centre, that he'd found someone else to ally with. Someone who wanted his help, someone who deserved it.

With a shaking hand, she reached to her belt and pulled off one of the pouches of fire powder. She had five bags left – four at her waist and one tied round her wrist. It was more than enough to last her for the rest of the Games, she knew there couldn't be long to go now.

Taking small steps, the click of her heels painfully loud on the floorboards, she walked round the bed to crouch at Key's side. She watched him for a moment as he slept; completely unaware of what she was doing. She wanted to wake him up, to tell him, but she knew that she couldn't. She didn't want to do that to him, to herself.

Softly, she placed the pouch of powder by his hand and stood up. She knew he wouldn't use it. He'd always been so against the fire, even as he encouraged her to use it. He didn't want to kill, she could see that now. The magic made it too easy. Even if he'd been using her as a weapon, she didn't hate him for it. She'd been much more than that to him. That much was clear.

She hesitated before leaving a second object beside him. Her Rubik's cube, her token that had somehow managed to stay with her when they'd lost everything else. She didn't know why she wanted him to have it, but she did. It wasn't doing her any good. It wouldn't do him any good either.

Forcing sobs away, she rocked back onto her heels and stood up, pushing on the bed to help herself to her feet. This was it, she realised. This was when the Games changed. She'd been a fool to think that she could keep an ally in the final eight, been a fool to see Key as anything other than a means to an end. She couldn't change the past, but she could change the future.

She was doing it for him more than her. She didn't want him throwing his life away for her, and he seemed dangerously close to it. If she left, he'd have a chance. He could forget about her as she forgot about him. They could find their fates alone, apart.

She left the room, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could manage. She hoped she'd never see him again. If she ever did, he'd be a face in the sky.

She gave a choked gasp, the sound of suppressed tears that she couldn't keep down any longer. This was what the Gamemakers wanted, they wanted the tributes to hurt, to suffer. They didn't even need weapons to do it. The bullet, the glass, none of it hurt as much as the wound that she'd caused herself. The Gamemakers couldn't even take any credit for that.

Swallowing, she turned and headed away down the moonlit corridor, no longer trying to tread softly. She was gone now. There was nothing he could do about it.

She looked up, trying to think of a plan. That's what she needed – a logical, rational, strategy for the rest of the Games. She'd been too long without one, just wandering, directionless, with him. Her mind wouldn't work though. She just wanted to get away. She'd find a staircase and carry on walking, each step taking her farther from where she wanted to be.

* * *

**I'm back! With yet another not-so-triumphant return. I'm really sorry that it's taken so long to get this chapter done. Don't worry though – even if it takes another year, I'm not abandoning this story. Though it won't take a year. I promise.**

**But yeah, this chapter was really dull, sorry if you were expecting something bigger. You'll get that next chapter :) Also, this might have seemed a bit disjointed, and that's just because of how long it took me to write it. I'm trying to get back into the flow of writing regularly now though.**

**As always, thank you so much for reading, and please review!**


	28. Flood

_Day 12_

The creak of hinges woke Ade. There was no moment of bleariness – he jumped straight up off of the sofa, hand rushing to his gun. He squinted against the darkness, feeling his racing heartbeat in his throat. A faint blue-white glow oozed from behind the door as it slowly groaned open. He caught a glimpse of a wisp of smoke, and he readied the revolver.

"Val," he hissed, and risked a glance over his shoulder. She was sleeping sprawled in an armchair, the white lines of her hair spread around her like vines. "Val, wake up," Ade said, slightly louder. She didn't stir.

He turned back to the door and his blood froze. The door was open, and standing in doorway was another Valkyrie. She seemed to be made from tendrils of mist, fluctuating and shifting to some unknown breeze, but though her features would twist in and out of being they were still undoubtedly Valkyrie's. The edges of her spectral dress faded into the darkness of the corridor, as did the swirls of her hair. Featureless white eyes fixed on Ade, solid for a moment, before drifting back into smoke.

He didn't hesitate in pulling the trigger. The shot cracked through the sleeping mansion and Ade's hands jerked back with the recoil. As the bullet tore through the ethereal Valkyrie, she slipped away into the night, dissipating into nothingness. Ade's breaths came quickly as he lowered the gun. The empty space in the doorway still held his gaze.

Behind him, Valkyrie woke with a yell, tearing his eyes away from where her ghostly reflection had been a moment before. Her gaze flitted to the gun in his hands and her eyebrows shot up.

"What…" She stumbled up, her shaking hand grabbing the axe that she'd balanced against the chair. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Ade whispered.

The ruffling of Valkyrie's skirts seemed painfully loud in the unnatural silence as she walked to his side.

"What was it?" she asked with a frown. She followed his line of sight until she saw where the bullet had left a dark hole in the opposite wall. Her brow furrowed further. "Ade, what did you shoot at?"

He looked across at her. After seeing the mist-Valkyrie, the real one seemed so solid. Even in the darkness, he could make out the blemishes on her skin, the dirt and the cuts. What made her human. But he could still see the other her, see the bullet tearing through the lingering smoke. He'd shot her so easily. That thing hadn't been Valkyrie, but it had worn her face, and he hadn't even been shaking as he shot her.

He was shaking now. The barrel of the revolver shuddered at his side and when he tried to calm his hand the quivering only grew worse.

"What happened?" Valkyrie's voice was firm now, a demand.

"Valkyrie," he said, and the shakiness had infiltrated his voice as well. "It was you. You were there, and I…"

His eyes widened and he almost dropped his gun as her hand wrapped over his. Her skin was cold, but it steadied him.

"Ade," she said softly. "It was the Gamemakers. That's all it is. They're trying to break us." Gently, she squeezed his hand. "Don't let them."

His mind flitted back to the kitchen, when he'd kissed her. Had that really only been a day ago? Time felt so odd in the arena. The final days of their lives flitted away from them so quickly, but they dragged by sluggishly as well. So much could change in one day. People changed, people died.

How many days did they have left? Not many.

Ade cleared his throat, trying to force the thoughts from his mind. "Come on, we need to get away from here."

She gave a quick nod and he pulled her out into the hallway, only to freeze. Standing there, a faint glow in the shadows, was the other Valkyrie. Even though she was at the far end of the corridor, it was still clearly her. The real Valkyrie inhaled sharply and her grip on his hand became vicelike, locking the pistol to his side.

"Is that…" Her voice was a dry croak.

He nodded and felt her skirts brush his leg as she did what he could not and turned away. A noise escaped her like a strangled gasp.

"Ade… That's not what we should be worried about."

A tug on his hand and he was ripped away from the ghost. He turned.

Valkyrie was right.

"Holy crap…" he whispered.

Filling the corridor was a glowing mass of the ghosts. Some looked like the other tributes, most were faceless entities. As the mist shifted they grew together and were dragged apart. They weren't individual entities, they were one body, constantly twisting and reforming and blocking the corridor from floor to ceiling. And then they charged, like a giant wave crashing silently towards Ade.

"Run!" Valkyrie screamed.

* * *

The worn corners of the Rubik's Cube dug into Key's hand as he ran out into the courtyard. Above him, the claw of the moon provided little light in the early dawn, but it was enough to see that Ethine wasn't by the Cornucopia. His heart sank as his eyes scanned the square, though he'd never actually expected to find her there.

She'd left him. Without a word, without a note, she'd gone – vanished like a half-remembered dream. Key's heart pounded in his chest and his throat was hoarse from calling her name without caring if anyone else heard him. With each breath, the cuts on his back screamed, but that pain was nothing compared to the fear, the ache, inside of him. He couldn't remember ever being this desperate.

No. There was one time. An abandoned power plant. Exposed wires. Rain beating on the roof. His brother…

He shook the memories from his mind. This wasn't like that. Ethine had left of her own accord – she'd made the decision. The Rubik's Cube was proof of that. His hand shook around it, knuckles white. That this was her choice didn't make it any better. Because behind the fear for her, for himself, was the sharp bite of betrayal. He couldn't be angry at her though, just at himself. It must have been something that he'd done that drove her away.

The frustration, the anger, the sorrow, rose inside of him, forming hot tears in his eyes. He knew that this was weakness. He should never have let himself get this close to someone, not in the Games. But she'd almost let him forget they were in the Games. No matter what the Gamemakers or the arena threw at them, they'd had each other – a scrap of sanity in all this madness. Someone to fight for other than themselves.

The cube dropped from his hand. Perhaps it was better that she'd left. Maybe this was what he needed – a reminder to start playing the Capitol's game. He could put her behind him now, hope that the arena killed her so that he never had to.

He cursed himself for the thought. He couldn't wish death onto anyone, especially not Ethine. Even if her death could mean his survival. Even if…

He was wrong. There were some people he'd gladly see dead – gladly kill. The Gamemakers and their screaming Capitol supporters. The people who put him and Ethine into this arena for fun, to watch them fall together and be ripped apart. And they might cry, but it was like tears for a fictional character, not like the tears that stung his cheeks. Tears of exhaustion, of agony, of sadness, of pure rage.

Even if he won, those tears would never truly go away. There would be new memories to haunt the backs of his eyelids – the girl he should have protected, the people she killed, the pain they faced together. The memories that those Capitol bastards called entertainment.

He heard footsteps behind him, and wasn't foolish enough to believe that it was Ethine. He turned, drawing his sword. Stepping into the moonlight with a dancer's tread was a small blonde girl in a tattered dress. The light caught her wide eyes, and glistened off of the tracks that tears had left on her cheeks. That made him hesitate, lower the blade slightly, though he wasn't going to sheath it. She hadn't got this far by chance.

Clair Tomison – that was who she was. The girl from his District. He could remember her on the train, running around like a squirrel on caffeine, marvelling at all the 'wonders of the Capitol'. He'd never have thought she'd survive this long. No one had thought Ethine would either.

There was a dagger at her waist, but she carried nothing else, not even basic supplies.

"You're from Three, aren't you?" she called, voice echoing around the courtyard.

He nodded, and she smiled weakly.

"I bet they're proud of us," she said.

"I don't have any supplies," he said bluntly. That must be what she was after – it was too late in the Games for alliances. Far too late, but he'd still expected Ethine to stick with him.

Clair frowned. "I…"

Something drifted from a window behind her head, something faint and glowing. "What was that?"

Her frown deepened. "What was?"

Suddenly, the courtyard was alight from all sides. Behind every window, through every murky pane, was a twisting mist. Key's blood ran cold as he noticed faces in the smoke, pressed against the glass with gaping mouths and hollow eyes. They disappeared as quickly as he saw them, drifting back into the body of the stuff. Clair shrieked as she looked desperately around her, and Key adjusted his grip on his sword, though he knew it would be little use.

Then the mist was seeping round the edges of the windows, reaching into the courtyard as claws. Key's heart raced even faster. There was no way out – the shifting ghosts were behind every door, every window.

"Over here!" Clair shouted.

She was backed into a corner, arms outstretched. There was something different about the air around her – a flickering wrongness.

"Forcefields…" Key whispered.

So Ethine wasn't the only one with magic.

* * *

The arena's usual creaks and groans had set Ethine so on edge during her first few hours alone, but when the corridor around her fell unnaturally silent she'd happily have had them back. It was a small difference, but it just felt so wrong. A tingle ran down the back of her neck and she stopped walking. The silence continued. It was a deliberate change then. Carefully, she eased her wrist to release a little fire powder into her palm. Whatever the Gamemakers were going to throw at her, she was ready for it.

She didn't need Key to protect her and she could prove it.

The air stirred in the corridor, whipping Ethine's hair into her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she widened her stance, grounding herself for whatever adversary was lurking in the shadows. She looked one way, then the other, trying her best to look calm and controlled. She knew what the Gamemakers were up to. She knew their tricks. She was the one in control here – she wasn't going to let herself appear as a cornered animal.

Just as another chill trickled through her, she saw it. Blocking the hallway like an extra wall, a tangled mess of glowing white mist. Ethine's hands rolled into fists as she turned to face it. There were figures there, in the smoke. Mostly almost formless, barely more than shapes squinted into clouds, but some were defined. There was Raylene, who'd died at her hands. The spectre's hair was white fire around her head.

Ethine's mind flashed back to the orchard, as flame-red hair was shamed by true fire. The smell as it burnt, over the burning flesh, filled Ethine's senses again. The ghostly Raylene faded back into the sprawl of spirits, but the memories didn't go with her.

Then the ghosts began to move. Slowly at first, like syrup, but gaining strength, gaining speed. Ethine couldn't guess what would happen if they reached her, and she didn't want to know. As the glow from their light cast blue highlights on her skin, she narrowed her eyes and stood her ground. She was jousting without armour, but she wasn't going to run, she didn't have to.

The mass was closer, silent as it spilt over furniture without harm. The air began to chill, pulling goosebumps from Ethine's skin. Still, she didn't run, even as the ghosts were mere metres away.

At the last minute, she crossed her arms in front of her and clicked her fingers. The flames roared into being – harsh orange blinding the blue. A smile crept onto her lips as the fire danced with her fingertips. Her arms were brushes and the flames her paint as she shaped it around her, forming a shell, a shield against the ghosts.

There was a whisper of a scream as the ghosts crashed around the flames. Ethine closed her eyes and threw more powder into her fiery aura, flinching away from the heat blasting her face. It couldn't hurt her, she knew that, she'd run it between her fingers like water, but it was still terribly hot. The sweat on her forehead and palms couldn't be blamed on fear alone. Her throat was dry, her breaths rasping.

Her eyes opened and she gasped in surprise. Around her, the shell of fire was burning blue – brighter than the ghosts had ever been. She staggered backwards and raised a hand to shield her squinting eyes. Desperately hoping that the spirits had passed, she clicked her fingers again and the fire dissipated.

Most of it, at least.

The walls of it were gone, but a ring still burnt on the floorboards around her. Blue wisps climbed up curtains and grasped at the curling wallpaper. A small table was completely engulfed in flames, the long-dead flowers on it given new heads of flickering blue.

Ethine's breath caught in her throat and her eyes were wide as the fire spread like a coffee spill seeping through a rug. How could she have been so stupid? Just because the fire couldn't catch on her skin didn't make the rest of the arena immune. And she'd just kept an inferno burning.

Before it spread further, she took a running leap over the burning ring. Flames lapped at her ankles, but she landed safely, if messily. A glance over her shoulder told her the fire was spreading further, oozing along the corridor just like the phantasmal wall.

She was breathing quickly, taking gulps of the smoky, dry air. Wild panic ignited in her mind. She had to get out of here, out of the mansion.

The crash of her heels echoed as she ran from the flames. She was drained – tired and worn and dizzy, but she ran faster than she ever had before. The bullet wound in her arm screamed and her head was spinning, but she wouldn't stop to fight it off. She didn't just need to get away from the flames, she needed to get away from the mansion before the whole place burned.

Her thoughts briefly flicked to Key, one moment of clarity above her racing heartbeat and gasping breaths.

_Get out, _her mind yelled at the memory of him. _Don't you dare die here. Don't die because of me._

* * *

"Bliric? Bli! What's going on?" Sable shrieked.

Bliric glanced back to where she was clinging desperately onto his hand as they ran through the mansion. Behind her, the ghosts in the mist surged towards them. The momentary lapse in his concentration made Bliric stumble, and he cursed as he regained his balance.

He'd barely slept at all – with Sable blind he had to be on watch all night – and sleep tugged at his eyelids even as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He couldn't complain though. If he hadn't been awake then he wouldn't have noticed the silent approach of the ghosts.

"Bli!" Sable was looking around madly, though her blank eyes would tell her nothing.

"I'll explain later," Bliric managed to say between breaths.

A chill shivered through the air and Bliric forced his legs faster. He wouldn't let the ghosts catch them. Whatever happened when they caught up, it wouldn't be good. He knew what this was – the Gamemakers wanted someone to die, and it wouldn't be him. He'd caught glimpses of the glowing mist all over the mansion when he'd passed a window, making the entire building gleam like a mirror of the moon.

"I can't-"

"Just run!" Bliric shouted back at Sable, cutting her off.

He heard her feet quicken, but their rhythm became irregular. Sable yelled out and tumbled to the ground, her shoulder slamming heavily down. Her hand jerked Bliric's back and he slipped, crashing down along with her. For a moment, they lay as a tangle of arms and legs as Bliric struggled to get his breath back, but he quickly jumped to his feet as he looked up at the advancing ghosts.

The rise and fall of Sable's chest was rapid and her blank eyes stared at the ceiling. Bliric's name tumbled from her lips again and again as if it would protect her. Desperately, he glanced between her prone form and the rush of ghosts. They were getting faster, getting closer. If he left Sable then he could get away.

She was blind – she _was _going to die, it was inevitable. No matter what he said to reassure her, that was the truth and they both knew it. If he left her, he'd put her out of her misery. If he left her, she couldn't slow down his escape. If he left her, he'd be safe.

If he left her, he'd be a coward.

He thought of her ring, pressing against his skin from his pocket, heavy with the weight of lost promises and the embers of hope. He thought of how she'd been there for him when Rayne had died and how he'd done the same only yesterday after Serene took her sight. Neither of them were ever meant to win – neither of them were meant to get this far. Bliric wasn't meant to be a competitor, not the type to do anything to win. Not the type to throw away the life of a friend.

He watched the ghosts stream towards him as if the world was in slow motion. Streams of mist, forming and reforming into grasping hands, reached out of the mass towards him. The temperature had dropped so low that his skin tingled. _Now,_ he urged himself, _It's your last chance_. He tore his eyes from the mesmerising phantasms and dropped to the ground beside Sable.

She let out a cry somewhere between shock and happiness as he helped her sit up. Her hands were trembling in his, and her glazed eyes shone with tears. But she was smiling, and so was he, despite the wall of ghosts looming ever closer.

"I thought you'd gone," she whispered.

_So did I_, he almost said.

He turned to face the ghosts. They were so close – mere metres away, towering over them. The tendrils of mist stretched towards them, making Sable flinch away from the cold. They couldn't run now, the spectral army would catch them easily. Gritting his teeth, Bliric pulled Sable close to him and pulled out the sphere that had saved their lives before. A single bolt of lightning would do nothing to combat an enemy this large, if it did anything at all. If the electricity could hurt these things, he'd need a storm.

It was his only choice.

"Hold still," he whispered.

With as much force as he could muster, he threw the orb at the floorboards and pushed himself and Sable down. The glass shattered, and for a moment nothing happened. Bliric glanced back over his shoulder, heartbeat reaching deafening levels in his head as ghosts reached at him, twisting mouths stretched into gaping maws. Then, as the closest ghost's frigid aura brushed his face, the globe exploded.

White lines of lightning crackled from the glass fragments, illuminating the corridor. The energy broke through the ranks of ghosts, sending them swirling back into mist. Bliric yelled as the electricity reached him, drawing blistering lines along his legs, across his shoulders. He slammed his eyes shut and waited, hoped. Around him, the ghosts were evaporating, the lightning lancing from wall to wall. Again and again, thin burns were whipped against his skin, but he didn't move, didn't stop himself from covering Sable.

"What's happening?" she shouted above the roar of energy.

Despite the pain, Bliric smiled. "You wouldn't believe me."

The lightning fizzled to nothing, the ghosts were gone, the corridor fell still – engulfed by night once more. Pain buzzed all over Bliric's skin, forcing him to fall when he tried to stand. He lay still as Sable crouched beside him, shaking his shoulder and willing him to talk again. All he could do was struggle against the darkness threatening to overwhelm him.

* * *

The boy hesitated for a moment, then ran towards Clair. She opened the forcefields for him briefly then sealed them again, pulling the barriers closer into the corner, forming a shelter against the ghosts that were swirling into the courtyards. The mist drifted amongst the broken statues, its sickly light glistening off of the gold of the Cornucopia, bringing a cold with it that bit to the bone. The forcefields couldn't block that out.

The boy whispered his thanks and Clair responded with a quick nod. The boy… the boy… what was his name again? She should know, she'd spent enough time pestering him on the train and in their rooms. But that all felt so distant.

Key – that was it. She'd felt sorry for him, and not just because of that awful name. He had kind eyes and a warm smile, but there was something behind it that stopped it being genuine. It seemed that 'something' was all that was left. It didn't even have the façade of happiness to hide behind any more. Clair had never seen anyone's eyes look as pained as when he'd turned to her.

His back was cut up into a mangled mess of blood and skin and cloth, but that wasn't the kind of pain she'd seen. That was the 'grit your teeth and get on with it' pain, the kind that would go away with bandages and time. The pain in Key's eyes had been something much worse – something that Clair had only ever felt shadows of. It was that pain that had made her let him behind the forcefields, had made her give him shelter against the storm of ghosts that now pressed against the air in front of them.

Faces and hands appeared and vanished in the mist, mouths open in silent wails and fingers scraping against the forcefield without sound. The shield seemed to be keeping them back, whatever they were. Clair just knew that she didn't want those spectral hands to reach her.

Key was silent before her, but the tension in his shoulders told her he was scared – either of the relentless spirits or of her. She watched his back. He was strongly built – probably twice her weight and most of it muscle. In a fight, he'd win, even if she had the forcefields. And now he had his back to her, completely open to an attack. Could she do it?

She wanted to win, and she knew she could, but all of her told her that killing Key was wrong. He trusted her enough to hide with her – stabbing him in the back was all kinds of unfair. But this was the Hunger Games – the final eight – and he was going to have to die for her to win.

She hadn't really killed anyone yet. Robin had died _because_ of her but it had been Robin's fault for attacking in the first place and it was her own knife that had ricocheted back at her. When the two of them had taken down Katarzyna, it had been a completely fair fight – maybe even balanced against them. What she was considering doing to Key… that wasn't right. Not in any way. That wasn't any kind of victory, that was just murder. But if she didn't take advantage, if she waited for the ghosts to go and challenged him, he'd win.

Carefully, slowly, she stretched the fingers of her left hand, expanding that forcefield as she turned off the right one. None of the ghosts managed to slip through, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Now… now was the tricky part.

What else was she to do? She was in the Hunger Games. He was her enemy.

He was from her District.

Only one tribute could win.

As fast as possible, her right hand darted to her waist to grab the dagger. Realising what was happening, Key swivelled to glance back at her, raising his sword, but she was quicker. Her left hand was still outstretched, keeping the ghosts at bay with shaking fingers, as she rammed the knife into his throat. She winced as she felt the blade scrape bone and blood spilt over her fingers in hot waves to the beat of his dying heart. His eyes – angry, afraid, haunted by that terrible pain – met hers, which seared with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You have no idea…"

She pulled the short knife – now completely red – from the clutching skin at the same time as Key's sword clattered to the floor. Why wasn't he falling? Blood had sprayed down his chest, his eyes were fading, but he still stood. Clair barely could. She wanted to collapse, cry, scream, get this blood from her hands. She had to stand, pushing the ghosts back. Eventually, Key tumbled beside his sword, accompanied by the boom of a cannon.

The ghosts still pushed at the forcefield. With a scream of effort, Clair pushed her left hand forward, shoving the invisible wall across the courtyard. The ghosts went with it and she jumped up, creating a smaller forcefield to land on. She threw her arms up and the forcefield leapt into the air. As the spectres surged back over Key's body, Clair flew higher and higher, tears cold on her cheeks. She soared up above the towers of the mansion, towards the moon. Part of her wanted to fly forever, to reach the walls of this hellish cage.

There was no joy in this flight. She had to get away from the nightmare, from what she'd done. No matter how far she flew, Key's blood would still stain her skin.

* * *

Valkyrie _ran_. Her legs were moving faster than she could ever remember, matching the roar of her pulse, and even that didn't seem quick enough. The phantasms stampeded behind her, a cresting wave intent on catching its victims. She could feel its cold stroking the back of her neck and it forced her onwards despite the film of sweat that clung to her skin and the layers of skirt that tried to trip her. Her axe had been dropped a long time ago – it had only been weighing her down.

Ade ran alongside her, seemingly just as worn out. The ghosts were relentless. Wherever Valkyrie ran, they'd follow, never letting her catch her breath. She didn't dare stop, and didn't dare leave Ade either. If they took separate ways at a junction, they could never see each other again, and there was no guaranteeing that that would slow the ghosts.

The ghosts showed no sign of stopping, and a new fear was beginning to take hold of Valkyrie. She could run forever and the ghosts would still catch her eventually. Did the Gamemakers want her dead this much? Was it because of what Ade had said to her? Could it be that there was nothing she could do to survive?

They rounded a corner, and a cry from Ade gave her enough warning to slow. The floor ahead of them fell away into nothing – a void of darkness beneath the floorboards. Ade dangled above it, clinging to the edges of the flooring with his free hand. Screaming his name, Valkyrie skidded to a stop beside the hole and grabbed his arm with both hands. He was light enough for her to support, but heavy enough that she couldn't drag him up. She met his eyes which were wide with fear and glanced over her shoulder. The ghosts hadn't quite caught up with her yet. She looked back down at him, trying to make out some form in the darkness beneath him. There was nothing there. She couldn't let him fall.

"Drop the gun!" she shouted, and his brow furrowed. She'd known he'd never do that.

He tried swinging himself up, legs flailing, but that only put more strain on her arms. It felt like they were being jerked out of their sockets. She was stronger than this, she knew she was, but it was barely ten minutes since she'd woken and her muscles were limp with exhaustion. Another glance back told her that the ghosts were still taking their time.

"Val!" There was something almost accusatory in his voice. He couldn't be blaming her for weakness, could he? It was his fault that he'd fallen in the first place.

"Just drop it!"

If only he would, he'd be able to grab the ledge, her arms, anything, and manage to lever himself up. But what then? The hole was far too large to jump, and the chill in the air told Valkyrie that the ghosts were still in pursuit, even if she couldn't see them.

Ade shook his head, and winced at the force on his arm.

"There's… there's something down here!" he said, looking over his shoulder with wild eyes.

There was nothing in the dark – it was just Ade's mind playing tricks on him – but Valkyrie followed his line of sight all the same.

Was she meant to let him fall? Was that what the Gamemakers were doing – testing her loyalty to Ade against her loyalty to their game? If she let go, would the ghosts disappear?

Ade raised his arm and, before Valkyrie knew what was going on, fired the revolver. The jerk of the kickback shuddered through him and up her arms, making Valkyrie curse under her breath as it shook her strained shoulders. The slight flash of the shot illuminated the pit briefly, and there _was_ something on the far wall. A button, protruding a little from the stone.

"If I swung..." Ade started.

"Don't try," Valkyrie cut him off.

She looked back at the corridor. A white-blue wisp reached round the corner, and she turned back to Ade, heartbeat deafening.

"Ade, I…"

"Val, do you trust me?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation, though a mere two days ago the answer wouldn't have come so easily.

"Then jump."

He fired again as Valkyrie frowned, and this time the bullet hit the button. There was the groan of stone on stone from somewhere deep within the darkness, within the walls of the mansion. Beneath Valkyrie, the floor began to shake and her grip on Ade's hand tightened. Around her, the air grew icy. The ghosts were almost upon them.

She didn't dare look back, just stared wide-eyed down at Ade. Below him, something was happening. Something was shifting, changing, to the sound of whatever mechanism they had activated. Ade met her eyes, and there was determination behind his fear.

"Valkyrie! Jump!"

And she did.

Not releasing his hand, she threw herself from the ledge. The air rushed past her as his other hand pulled her close to him, the gun missing from its grasp. They fell together, and above them the glowing mass of ghosts pulsed across the mouth of the hole.

Valkyrie hit the ground hard. Sharp ridges dug into her back, knocking the air out of her and jerking her head back painfully. Stairs, she realised, as she and Ade tumbled down them in a mess of arms and legs. Finally, they stopped rolling.

Valkyrie let out a deep breath and stared at the darkness above her. Every inch of her ached with cuts and bruises and weariness, but it didn't feel like she'd broken anything. That was hardly a consolation as her breaths shuddered through her. Pain flared everywhere, and she almost wished that she'd fall unconscious.

"Ade?" she croaked, looking around with bleary eyes. There was nothing but black – she couldn't even see her own body.

She felt a hand gingerly poke her arm, then trace the line of it to her hand. A smile that hurt her cheeks found its way onto her lips as the fingers intertwined with hers.

"We're alive," she said, sinking down against the stone floor.

"We're alive." Ade's voice was an echo.

Smiling, Valkyrie closed her eyes.

* * *

**I disappear for months and then kill off a beloved character. I understand if you hate me, I really do.**

…**I'M SO SORRY I KILLED HIM. Killing any of these characters is ridiculously hard, and I think that's why I found this chapter really difficult to write. I knew someone had to die, but… I'm sorry.**

**Anyway, I'm back and I mean it this time. School's over, free time is abundant and I actually have a plan for the rest of this story. I know exactly what's going to happen (including who the victor is!) and that should make it much easier to write. I forgot how much I love writing these characters – starting this chapter took several attempts but I got back into the flow of it pretty quickly.**

**Updates should be roughly weekly until the end now.**

**If you're still with me, thank you so much for reading this and for all of your support. If it wasn't for the reviews, the PMs and just how wonderful you guys are, I doubt I'd have started this story again. Thank you :)**


	29. Burning Bright

The fire wasn't her fault – it couldn't be. No natural flames could ever spread as quickly as the ones Ethine watched. None burnt as relentlessly blue as these either. It gave them a strange effect, the light they cast was almost the same as the ethereal glow as the ghosts. It meant that they didn't look like flames, didn't bear the warning red. Ethine knew that they'd burn her just as easily as if they were orange.

The fire raced through the corridor behind her, consuming the floor and walls as it went. Ethine caught glimpses of the blackened skeletons of furniture between the flames, smelt the heavy smoke that all the old wood produced. Above her, the cracking of roofing tiles echoed through the mansion. But it was all behind her, as long as she kept moving. She just had to keep away from the fire, and hope that an exit would appear in her path. She had to get out of the mansion. At the rate the fire was spreading, nowhere could be safe.

She struggled to force herself to keep hold of these rational thoughts when her racing heartbeat and shivering skin wanted her to panic. Any hesitation, any hysteria, any last-minute attempts to bargain with a deity, would be useless and only lead to death. She had to keep her wits about her, stay calm. Even so, she couldn't forget the danger she was in. That would be equally foolish.

Of course, remembering the danger was easy with the smoke chasing her and the heat on her back. It felt like so much more of a threat than a ghost – it was something tangible, something she could relate to life outside of this twisted game. After all, she had no idea what terrible fate would have greeted her if she'd fallen to the ghosts. She knew all too well what would happen if those flames caught up.

No. She chastised herself for thinking in such a way. Just think about moving, that was all she had to do. One foot in front of the other, sleeve over her mouth against the smoke, eyes constantly on the lookout for a way out of these damned corridors.

She was still one floor up, she had to find stairs down soon. It was far too risky to jump. Maybe if she'd been in better shape she could have attempted it, but her bullet-wound still ached fiercely in her arm and she hadn't exactly been an ideal physical specimen when the Games began. Stairs were definitely a better idea.

The smoke stung her eyes and she stopped looking back. She knew the fire was there, keeping it under her gaze didn't change anything. Moving, just keep moving. Not running – there was too much of a risk in that. She could trip and fall and lose her valuable lead. She told herself that, but she desperately wanted to run. Anyone else would have.

Anyone else wouldn't evaluate the risks the way she did.

Keep moving. Stay calm.

A cannon's roar split through the arena, eliciting a yelp from Ethine. She immediately regretted it as smoke took the opportunity to slip into her mouth. Her lungs spasmed into a rasping cough and she was left bent over double, watering eyes squeezed tightly shut. Valuable time, lost. Squinting forward, throat still tickling, she continued onwards.

The cannon – another tribute dead. Because of the fire? Because of her?

Her mind jumped to her last memory of Key, remembered him slumbering on the floor as she walked away. She knew that the cannon shouldn't have been his but that didn't stop her stomach from churning at the thought. It couldn't be Key. He was strong, intelligent, capable. They were stronger apart.

Stronger apart.

Though she knew it was irrational, she hurried forward as the smoke crept around her. The cannon somehow made death seem more real, made her mortality more immediate. She had to get away from the flames, had to get out.

She sped through the corridors, world blurred by tearing eyes. As she ran from the fire, she realised that the cannon was preying on her mind as much as the inferno. It was stupid. Illogical. So what if it was Key? That was the reason she'd left him. One of the reasons, anyway. Now they could die apart – she wouldn't ever have to fight him.

But if it was Key… If it…

She shook her head, choking on another breath of suffocating smoke. This wasn't the time for these thoughts. This was a time to _move_.

She emerged on a balcony in some kind of entrance hall. A golden banister twirled before her and beyond it lay a colossal room of white and gold. Three grand staircases led down to the hall, two already burning blue. Above Ethine, the painted heavens were aflame, angels and cherubs still smiling down as the ghostfire consumed their wings.

She paused for a moment to catch her breath, though the air here was hardly cleaner than in the corridors. Two huge, dark, doors towered over the hall, flanked by decorated columns. Those doors were Ethine's last chance, and she knew it. Around her, the fire had blocked off any other paths leading from the balcony. If those doors didn't open, Ethine would be engulfed by her own fire.

The heat grew more intense, and she knew she had lingered too long. Lucky not to trip over her feet, she charged down the central staircase. Splintering cracks echoed from the burning steps and a crash made her flinch as a beam collapsed nearby, sending sparks flying at her. Her heartbeat roared with the flames and she told herself not to panic. There was less conviction to it now that she was visibly shaking and her skin was slick with sweat. Her head began to spin, and she raised a hand to it. She wasn't going to fall. Not now.

She stumbled to the door, and sure enough it wouldn't budge. She pushed, pulled, heaved with all her might, and got no reaction. Her fingers were red, raw, and shivering when they left the heavy metal handles. Tears seeped from her eyes, burning through the smoke-sting. This wasn't _fair._ She'd played the game, done everything that they'd wanted. She'd killed for them! She'd left behind a boy she cared about too much solely so that she could win. She was being their pawn, and this was how they rewarded her? Backed up against the doors like a cornered animal, surrounded on all sides by a fire of her own creation?

Her own creation..?

She wasn't just a pawn in this game, she was a player as well. The pieces were hers to move.

She straightened her back and turned to face the flames, stretching her arms out wide. Despite the sting of smoke, she kept her eyes on the burning blue, willing it to be hers. The flames, the Gamemakers, they would listen to her. She refused to think otherwise.

At the click of her fingers, the blue turned to orange. A smirk reached her lips as she pulled her hands up, dragging waves of flames from the staircases. She spun round, backing into the centre of the entrance hall. Around her, the entire room was aflame. The two mountains of fire under her control hovered in the air behind her like flaming wings. She knew the power was an illusion, but she felt strong. The room that had been set to kill her was now hers to control. Warm light burnished her red hair and glistened in her eyes. The air shimmered from the heat, breaking with the rest of the room.

With controlled, careful motions, she drew her arms back behind her head. The tension she kept in her fingers was entirely unnecessary, but she couldn't release it. The fire was in her veins, in her mind. The flames in the air reared like snakes preparing to strike.

She threw her hands forward and the fire roared past her, almost stroking her shoulders as the two burning streaks became one charging inferno. The heat was scorching, the light was blinding, but Ethine didn't flinch or look away. Her arms remained before her, barely trembling as she focused the fire against the doors.

Smoke rose, but she didn't hear the crackle of burning wood. The heat was too intense. The doors were obliterated, the fire burning a hole through the middle of them. Satisfied, Ethine dropped her arms and the fire dissipated, leaving a few flames lingering around the edges of the new portal. She stared at it for a moment, not quite believing that her plan had worked, before the smoke caught up with her. Each breath brought a new gasp of the stuff into her lungs and she let out a choking cough, covering her mouth again and bowing her head.

She ran towards the burning doors, legs weak and shaking. It took all of her strength to make the jump out of the hall safely. The flames lapped at her feet and she fell into a roll on the pebbled pathway outside.

She lay there, drinking in the clean air as she stared at the fading moon. The heat from the fire still reached her. She turned her face towards it, and gasped when she saw what was left of the mansion. It was a dark shadow, engulfed by flames that streamed from every window. The fire burned so bright, so strong as blue and orange flames danced together, that it seemed to be forcing the night to recede.

Ethine groaned and rolled away from the sweltering heat. She'd been such a good little pawn. She'd played according to the Gamemakers' plans. She'd started the endgame.

* * *

The darkness, the silence, made Ade feel like he was walking through the endless void of space. At least, it would have done if he didn't occasionally walk into the rough stone of a wall. He ached from the fall – especially his ankle, which shrieked with pain whenever he put the slightest pressure on it – but he knew how much worse it could be. When he'd been dangling in the pit, watching Valkyrie's frightened eyes, he'd been terrified that he'd fall. And then, before they'd activated the button, the steps wouldn't have been there to catch him. He didn't know how much further he'd have fallen, but he was certain that he wouldn't have survived.

She'd held him there though – she'd saved his life. If he'd been in her place, he'd have at least considered letting her fall. He'd be surprised if the thought hadn't crossed her mind. But she hadn't. Despite everything, she'd stayed with him. He still leant against her now as he hobbled through the underbelly of the mansion. He needed to because of his ankle, but – lost in this darkness – he liked having her there, just so that he wasn't alone.

He wasn't surprised that they were in more corridors. These pitch-black warrens stretched beneath the mansion, cold and dry. Occasionally, they came to another short flight of stairs, leading further beneath the halls. Whenever Ade reached out to the wall for support, it felt odd beneath his fingers. At regular intervals it would vanish for a small gap before being replaced by coarser stone, then returning to its original state after another gap. Ade didn't know what it was he was feeling, but it meant that these corridors weren't empty.

They needed light, but he wasn't going to waste a bullet just for a tiny flash from the revolver. He only had three bullets left, and next time he fired one he intended for it to end up in something fleshy.

"Ade?" Valkyrie's voice came from the darkness beside him, echoing faintly. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, then added "I think so" when he remembered she was just as blind as he was.

"It's dark down here," Valkyrie said. She gave a faint laugh. "Sorry for stating the obvious, it's just…"

"You're scared," Ade finished for her. "Don't worry – it's normal."

"Are you?"

He hesitated. "Yeah," he said, surprised when a hint of a waver touched his voice. He sighed. "I'm always scared, Val, I'm in the Hunger Games." It felt odd to admit, but he was. No matter how angry, or determined, or even happy he felt, he'd still be scared. He knew how quickly the Gamemakers could kill him. He kept expecting them to, after everything he'd said. Of course, they might not have to kill him now. They could just leave him to wander in these tunnels until he faded away.

Valkyrie rubbed his arm. "We'll find a way out."

He raised his hand to hers, feeling the bandages that wrapped her fingers. She seemed to freeze for a moment, which made him smile. She was odd – sometimes she felt much younger than she was, but often she felt much older. She'd had to grow up quickly, he knew that much. It was like she'd skipped out childhood. He almost felt lucky – his father's relative wealth had meant that he'd never really had to work. Maybe there had been some truth in Brogan's words when he called Ade selfish, lazy, stubborn… No. Ade had spent all of his life disagreeing with his father. He wasn't going to have a sudden change of heart now.

For the first time, he thought of his family watching at home. Were they proud of him? When he'd killed a Career on the first day, what had they thought then? What about all the rest of the time? He'd done nothing else. Did they prefer that, or were they an echo of his mind, yelling at him to kill again? He was sure that Brogan would be calling him a coward for taking a ranged weapon, call him pathetic for his low kill count. But he was trying, damn it. He hadn't seen another tribute for days – he couldn't have killed. Nothing he could have done would have made Brogan happy. If he'd killed day after day then his father would have branded him a savage.

What about Valkyrie? What did they think of her? His friends probably thought he'd gone soft, probably thought… They'd all seen him kiss her. And now they could see him struggling through the darkness, holding onto her hand for reassurance.

But what were they meant to think? Heck, what did _he _think of Valkyrie? He had no idea. She was his ally, probably his friend, but what did everything else mean? Why did he find having her there comforting? Why did the thought of killing her make him sick to his stomach?

…How did any of this happen?

"Why do we do this, Val?" he asked quietly.

"Eh? What do you mean?"

"Y'know, _this_. This whole alliance thing. I bet we're not the only ones. We all know we're going to die, that everyone else is our enemy, but _still_ we do this. We know it hurts, us more than anyone. We could have split up – should have done."

"Without me, you'd have fallen," Valkyrie said, voice not betraying much emotion.

"Yeah, but… But that's not the point. We're going to have to die, one of us is. And now it's going to… Damnit, Val, I don't want to lose another friend. I don't want to lose you."

She was silent for a moment, and Ade was glad it was so dark. It meant that she couldn't see his tears, meant that he could pretend that they weren't there. But he couldn't pretend not to care any more. He couldn't trick himself into thinking that he'd callously be able to shoot her if they were the final two.

"I could leave now." Valkyrie's voice was soft. "We could go our own ways, in this darkness."

"With this bloody ankle?" Ade snorted. "You're sticking with me for this at least."

Another long pause, as they continued to stagger through the tunnel.

"It's because we want to live," Valkyrie said finally.

"What?"

"You asked why we make alliances," she said. "That's why. We all know that we could die, and we want to _live_. Yes, there's a tactical advantage, but that's not why we choose allies, friends. We know we've only got days, when we thought we'd have years, so we're going to bloody well make those days count. We'll make them into the years we wanted, make them into our lives. We need other people, if we want to truly live, if we want to feel human. I know it's going to hurt, but that's what people do – we hurt each other, and not just with weapons. With these stupid feelings, these stupid, wonderful feelings. Because when there's shadow, it makes the light brighter. And we've only got a few days to burn, so we're going to burn as bright as we can. 'Cause that's what we do. We're human." She took a shaking breath. "That's why."

Ade kissed her then, because he couldn't not. She gave a slight yelp, then threw her arms around him to return the kiss just as earnestly. He didn't love her – no one could fall in love in just a few days – but he felt that he could have done. In a different place, a different time, a different life, he could have. And that was enough.

It wasn't a kiss like in the kitchens. It was urgent, relentless, desperate – a lifetime of kisses forced into one. Because they were going to die. If Ade wanted to win, then the girl in his arms was going to have to became a corpse. But, until then, they had each other. Ade didn't care what his parents, what anyone watching, thought of them.

For now, they were two foolish humans, burning bright in the darkness.

* * *

Sable clutched Bliric's hand, clinging onto the pulse at his wrist. Whatever danger they'd been in had passed, but he wasn't responding to her. Carefully, she reached to his face, feeling for breath. He groaned as her fingers stroked his skin.

"Bli… Tell me what's wrong," she urged. "Tell me what's happened."

If she knew, she could help him. She knew how to heal, how to bandage wounds, how to ease pain. Though that knowledge would hardly help now that her sight had abandoned her. Anything she tried to help would just end up hurting him more. All she could do was sit by his side, holding his hand and whispering to him.

She was useless – so utterly, completely _worthless_. She'd known it, but now she felt it so deeply, knew that this was the undeniable truth. They'd been in terrible danger, she'd heard it in Bliric's voice, felt it in everything he'd done, but she still had no idea what had happened. She'd been bewildered, lost in the darkness as Bliric had pulled her along. Her mind had created all kinds of monsters to pursue her, but there had been nothing but silence behind them. That had made it worse.

And now… Now she was even more alone. Bliric was alive, she wasn't going to leave him, but she couldn't _help _him. That had been her purpose. She'd never been a soldier, she'd been a healer. Serene had stolen that from her, along with everything else. She was nothing but a liability, a burden that Bliric refused to let go.

She almost wished he had. But she'd been scared, so scared, in the darkness.

"Sable?"

She jumped as Bliric squeezed her hand, and then smiled. He was a fool, she'd be the death of him, but having him with her soothed her more than she could ever have hoped. They must have made a sorry sight – a blind girl fumbling in the dark, and the broken boy from District Eleven.

"I lost the orb, Sable," Bliric said. His voice trembled, but didn't feel as weak as Sable had expected. "I had to..."

So they were defenceless as well. It was because of her – Sable knew it. Whatever had made Bliric lose the orb, it had happened because she fell. She remembered him knocking her down, screaming as pain surged through him. She remembered how the air had felt alight with _something_, her skin tingling as if surrounded by static electricity.

He tried to sit up, shaking, but Sable forced him back down.

"You need to rest," she insisted.

"I…"

"You're injured," she said. "And you better tell me how."

She heard him sigh and felt him sink against the floor. "There were ghosts, a stampede of them." He laughed, apparently at how ridiculous it seemed. Sable would have laughed too, not long ago, but after so long in the arena she was used to believing the impossible. "We had to run," Bliric continued. "If we hadn't… I don't know what would have happened, but those things definitely weren't benign." That did make Sable laugh. Bliric was struggling to stay conscious, but he still used words that most of his district wouldn't understand. He smiled – she felt it. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have told you something, but we _had_ to get away. Then you fell, and they… they almost caught us. I threw the sphere – I didn't think it would actually work, but I had to try _something_. It exploded, throwing lightning everywhere. It dealt with the ghosts but… Well, it could hardly discern between friend and foe."

"You electrocuted yourself?" Sable exclaimed.

"Not deliberately, I assure you. But yes."

"Then you _definitely _need to rest."

"I doubt I have long, I'm afraid."

"What?"

"I meant that I doubt we'll have much of a respite. The Gamemakers want death, they'll send something along soon."

"But there was a cannon," Sable said. What was Bliric on about? The Gamemakers had almost killed them already, they wouldn't launch another assault so quickly. She was sure that their escape from these ghosts must have been exciting enough to keep the Capitol entertained.

"A cannon at the same time we were in danger," Bliric said, ever analytical. "They must have put all of the tributes in danger at once – a board-sweeper."

"And they'll want more than one death," Sable said, following his line of thought.

"They want this to be over," Bliric said.

"Doesn't everyone?"

Bliric said nothing. Sable wished he would – silence was deafening now. It was all-consuming, reducing her to nothing.

Another death. She wouldn't let it be Bliric. Not after everything he'd done for her.

"Bli?" she said as tears threatened to break her voice.

Bliric gave a vague grunt of acknowledgement. He was still in pain – she could feel the tension in his hand. If the Gamemakers did try something then he wouldn't be able to…

"Thank you," she whispered, her hands shaking around his. "I… Everything you've done for me…" In her mind, she was a lot more eloquent. She wanted to put into words just how much he meant to her, but she didn't know if there were any words that could capture that. He was all that was keeping her together, and she was nothing but a burden to him. He was an idiot, a hero. And if the Gamemakers thought they could kill him to fill their twisted quota…

"Don't cry," he said, reaching up and stroking a tear from her cheek.

She hadn't even realised that she'd started crying, but - now she knew – she couldn't keep the tears back. Collapsing onto his chest, she sobbed. The tears were hot, undignified, drowning any semblance of a sentence that she tried to form.

"We're going to be okay," Bliric said.

"We're not," she managed to say through tears. "We _can't_."

"Sable, don't…"

A cracking sound made them both tense. Bliric breathed in sharply, nudging her off of him as he sat up. He let out a sigh through gritted teeth, obviously in pain. And then he swore uncharacteristically loudly.

"What?" she asked, struggling up. Her hand brushed against a shard of glass from the broken orb. "What is it?"

"Sable…" His voice was quiet. "The mansion's on fire."

He'd been right. The Gamemakers weren't satisfied with the blood they'd taken, they wanted another death. And she was blind, he was injured and exhausted, and they were trapped in a burning building.

"How close is it?" she asked. There weren't any tears for her to fight back any more. Crying would be useless. She just felt hollow – powerless to the whims of the Gamemakers. If they wanted a death, they'd get it.

There was a rustling sound, presumably Bliric pushing back a curtain to get a better look. "It's coming round on both sides. Three wings are gone… Sable, the whole place is aflame." He gave a shuddering sigh. "It's almost beautiful," he said faintly.

"They want to kill us," Sable said, slumping back against the wall.

"They're _going _to kill us. Sable… I'm sorry…"

"No," she said, surprisingly harshly. "Bli, you've got nothing to apologise for. How could this be your fault? You've done everything you can!"

"People like us don't win, I should have known they'd get bored…"

"Bli! I never thought I'd win, but you've helped me _live_. That's enough. That's more than enough."

Her hand stopped shaking as it closed around the shard of the orb. She didn't wince as the edges dug into her fingers, drawing blood. That was what it had to do.

She could hear Bliric trying to stop himself from crying, stifling his sobs. He'd done so much for both of them, and for Rayne. The Gamemaker's couldn't let him die like this – helpless against the flames. Sable wouldn't let him. If he had to die, he'd get a noble death. And so would she, as noble as she could get.

"Do you still have my ring?" she asked quietly.

The air had grown hot around her, the crackling sounded closer. The flames were approaching.

"What?"

"You still have it?" she asked again.

"I… yes."

She nodded to herself. The ring was a promise to come home, but it wasn't her promise any more.

"A death – that's what they want," she said.

"Sable, what are you-"

She raised the glass. She could smell smoke now, feel the heat on her skin. Above her, tiles cracked and wood hissed. But she didn't feel scared. Bliric had done everything he could to save her. She could do the same for him.

"I love you, Tay," she whispered, and drove the shard into her throat.

Pain erupted. Bliric screamed. It all felt strangely distant. Sable slumped to the floor. No, she landed in Bliric's arms. She smiled, blood seeping from her lips.

Her last thoughts weren't of the boy who gave her the ring.

They were of the boy who now held it.

* * *

Clair sat cross-legged in the air above the mansion, watching the flames like a child looking for shapes in the clouds. Below her, the mansion was a beacon in the shrinking darkness. The flames danced – most the unnatural blue, but towards the main gates they'd flared orange. The mansion was basically square, with the Cornucopia's courtyard in its centre, and virtually all of it was burning. Clair found a certain irony in the way that she only just worked out how the mansion fitted together as she watched it die.

The orange flames were pushing back the blue ones as they worked their way around the building, enclosing the single edge that had not yet succumbed to the blaze. They threw up smoke as they worked, but not as much as Clair would have expected. Neither the smoke nor the heat reached her, though the light did. Azure and ochre highlights fought for dominance on Clair's skin and as the wind swirled her illuminated hair she felt almost as if she was part of the fire. She could certainly destroy just as easily.

Her stomach churned whenever she thought of Key. She'd watched his body be collected, saved from the arena before the fire claimed it. The blood still hadn't left her skin. It was planted deep in the lines of her fingers, clinging round her fingernails and dying them red. There was a streak of crimson on her dress where she'd rammed the knife back into her belt.

There had been no glory in what she'd done. Before, with Katarzyna or Robin, killing had taken skill. The fight against the Careers had needed perfect timing, collaboration between allies. Against Robin, Clair had manipulated her opponent and her surroundings in order to take down a foe much more skilled than herself. But Key…

She hadn't even used her gift, her forcefield. She'd used betrayal, cowardice, and it made her feel sick. If she'd beaten him fairly, she doubted she'd be this wracked with guilt. If she'd at least challenged him, she doubted her district would loathe her. Would they even support her after this, after so brutally killing one of their own? She should be an underdog – the kind of tribute to make people stand up and cheer after every little victory. But now… Now she was just a murderer and she wouldn't blame anyone for treating her that way.

That didn't mean she was going to give up. She was going to fight, she was going to give it everything she had, and she was going to _win_. She might return to her home as a pariah, but she was going to get back. She was going to try to make them proud. It might be an impossible task, but she could try. After all, that was what the Hunger Games were about. Beating unbeatable odds, rising to the challenge, showing that no matter what the Capitol did they _would not break her._

A cannon fired, louder than Key's now that Clair was so high above the manor. She jumped to her feet, looking down at the fire. There was almost nothing left of the mansion now – just a mirror of its shape in flames and a tiny part of the last wall standing. It was hardly surprising that the arena had claimed another life.

Almost an echo of the cannon, a thunderclap split the sky. Suddenly, rain was all around Clair. It fell in torrents, drenching her dress and gluing her hair to her scalp. It doused the raging fire below and pooled around Clair's feet, the forcefield making the puddle appear to rest on nothing. Clair looked up as a lightning bolt burst across the arena, briefly illuminating it as bright as day. Rivulets of water ran down her face and over her smiling lips.

If she had been part of the fire, she was now part of the storm. Dancing in the sky above the arena, bringing a new beginning, bringing the end. Bringing a second chance.

She sprinted across the sky, barely able to create new forcefields fast enough. The rain raced her, tumbling down onto the corpse of the mansion. Clair didn't know where she was going, but she screamed and laughed as she ran, reclaiming the initial joy of the forcefields. She destroyed the one beneath her and fell with the rain, her sodden hair streaming above her, before landing catlike on another. The impact sent shocks through her, shaking her wounds, but she didn't care. She just needed the thrill of it. The thrill of the magic, the storm, the rolling thunder and coursing rain. The thrill of forgetting, of moving on.

Because in the Games, the past was nothing. As brief as those flames that had been so bright, so strong, so destructive, and had left nothing. It was the present that mattered. Clair forced herself to move on. Not a ghost, not a flame, but the storm. And once it had died down then she would change again. It was the only way to survive.

Dwell on the past and the pain that she'd seen in Key would infiltrate her eyes. Look to the future and its weight would crush her. But the present, she could deal with that. In the present, she could smile.

And she did, the lightning flashing in her eyes as she stepped down from her forcefield and onto the slate roof of the church. She settled in the centre of it, rain spilling away either side of her. Water dripped from her hair and dress to join the rivers in the gutters. A crash of thunder and the steeple behind her was lit up as she was framed in white light. For a moment, the arena showed itself to her – the charred remains of the mansion little more than a silhouette - before retreating back into the dullness of the dawn.

She was ready for it. It'd better be ready for her.

* * *

**Look – I updated on time! Sorry for not replying to any reviews on the last chapter – I was on holiday and didn't have any internet. I'm back now though :)**

…**I thought killing Key was hard. This chapter was **_**painful**_** to write. I can't help but feel that I wasted Sable as a character, but I tried to give her the best death I could. That didn't make it any better. I'm so sorry. Again :(**

**New chapter coming next week! In case you couldn't tell, we're getting pretty close to the end now – things are only going to get worse.**


	30. Gifts

_One life or two. One life or two_.

Sable had saved him. If she hadn't killed herself, the flames would have kept burning until there was nothing left of either of them.

It made sense. It was brave of her. Incredibly brave.

But Bliric couldn't think that. He sat there in the remnants of the corridor, trickles of rain running through the charred beams in the ceiling and mixing with Sable's blood. She lay in his arms, blank eyes closed, throat crimson. A hint of a smile had played at her dying lips. Bliric could only stare at her – the corpse in his lap. Tears stung at his eyes, but he wasn't crying. He was too shocked. Shattered. Hollow.

She'd died for _him_. Everything she'd done had made sense, but she'd done it for him. She'd given up. She'd let Tay go – let life go – so that Bliric could have a chance at survival.

Even worse, he'd been the one to put the idea in her head. All the talk of 'death quotas' had resulted in her desperate plea to the Gamemakers for his life.

It had worked. She'd managed to save one of them.

Bliric's shoulders shook as rain and blood seeped into his coat. Around him, the dying embers of the fire sputtered into nothing. The mansion was crumbling, a desolate echo of what it was, with only the tiny fraction of the wing he was in still standing. This was it. This was the end.

He was alone.

Sable and Rayne – they'd both died so that he could survive. He'd never asked it of them. He didn't deserve it, but they'd done it. They'd given him this chance, and he was doing nothing with it. Crying in a broken corridor, clutching at a corpse, he was too shaken to do anything else. With the pain that still racked his limbs and the hollowness in his stomach, he felt he'd pass out if he tried to move.

His breaths were coming too quickly, but he couldn't stop them. His head was spinning as he held Sable's body, his tears falling slowly onto her pale skin. Just away from her, the glass that she'd used to kill herself lay, its wicked curve dyed red. She looked calm, Bliric realised. Happy. Free from the mess of emotions that were coursing through him.

He couldn't have done what she'd done. If he'd died, she'd have been left blind and alone. But even if she'd still had her sight, he doubted he'd have been brave enough.

It wasn't selfish to want to live. But could he say it was foolish to want to die, after what Sable had bought him?

She'd been so brave. Not just at the end. She'd been so selfless throughout the entire Games – doing so much for him. She'd thought herself a burden, but she couldn't have been more wrong. She'd kept him going.

Hands quivering, Bliric laid her down, the corridor a shallow mockery of a grave. Swallowing nausea and tears, he staggered to his feet. Sable's ring still sat in his pocket, and his hand went to it instinctively – to the part of her that he could keep alive. He briefly let himself think of her family, her fiancé, back in District Eight. They were watching him now. The boy Sable had died to keep alive.

Bliric's legs protested as he stumbled away from Sable's body. Wincing, he pulled up the end of his trouser leg to see a map of harsh red lines on his skin, like the electricity that had surged through him had carved its image into his skin.

His mind flashed back to the ghosts. He could have left Sable there, and nothing would have changed. She'd still be dead, but he'd still have his electricity and he'd be less injured.

No. He couldn't have left her. He'd have killed her.

But didn't he anyway?

He dragged himself to the edge where the floor fell away. Leaning over slightly, he looked down the drop to blackened rubble three storeys below. Pipes and planks and bits of wall jutted out of the building beneath him, an uneven scar on what was left of the mansion. Some distance away, more of the wing remained, standing like a broken gravestone. There was no way down. He could either fall, or stay stuck with Sable's body in the smoke-scented corridor.

Rain ran down his face, taking his tears with it, and tumbling down off the precipice to the rubble. For a moment, Bliric wanted to fall with it. Wanted to fall into the peace where Sable lay.

He shook the thoughts from his head. That was sheer cowardice. Sable's life had bought him a second chance – he owed it to her to use it.

Even so, he couldn't stay there. There was nothing left in the towering corridor except bitter memories.

He levered himself down to sit on the edge, testing the blackened edges of the floorboards to make sure they wouldn't fall. The rain soaked his jacket and shirt, but didn't wash away the blood that made the dark fabric black. It shivered against his injured skin, the tingles it sent through the scars a strange mix of pain and comfort.

He looked down, analysing the different ledges and outcroppings created by the flames as he tried to forget the body that was behind him. He didn't need emotions to distract him now – falling from this height would be fatal. His shaking hands were due only to pain.

Picking a suitable point, he shuffled along the edge and eased himself off of it. He forced back the sudden burst of vertigo and swung round, unable to stifle the shout of pain as he slipped from the ledge. His fingers gripped at the slick wood, acutely aware it was all that was keeping him from a painful death. It strained his arms, making the wounds scream again. The agony sent sparks across his vision and made his stomach churn.

He couldn't hold on for long, but managed long enough to swing forward and jump down. He landed messily in the corridor below, rolling against the floorboards. Pain erupted across him, lashing down his fingers to his raw fingertips. Shaking, he forced his torso up, twisting round so that he could throw up. With a grimace, he collapsed back down. Darkness threatened to consume his vision, to drag him into unconsciousness, but he refused to let it.

Blinding agony stormed as he dragged himself to slump against the wall, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He tilted his head back and let his eyes close. The pain would run its course eventually, both the reawakened scars and new bruises. He tried to focus on that thought as the pain clawed at him.

Along the corridor a grandfather clock, face crusted with dust and smoke's carbon, chimed. The sounding of the hour felt strangely empty without the halls to echo around. It drifted into the air and faded with the rest of the mansion. On the final count, Bliric opened his eyes again.

It was six o'clock. He'd been awake for virtually all of the night. He'd endured ghosts, lightning bolts, fire and Sable's death, all in such a small time. He deserved to rest, but he wouldn't let himself. Not yet – not in this deathtrap of a crumbling tower. Once he was in relative safety, he'd let his eyes close again.

Groaning, he pushed back on his hands and heaved himself to his feet. His limbs felt like they were dead – he was just a puppeteer awkwardly manoeuvring himself to move. At least, he'd have felt dead if he didn't hurt so much. As it was, he had to force back the lure of unconsciousness yet again as he walked back to the ledge.

It wasn't so far to fall this time, but it was still dangerous. It was still enough to break an arm or a leg or something worse, and any injury that would seriously limit his ability was crippling at this point in the Games. He was in bad enough condition as it was, and he just had to hope that the pain would fade after sleep. Either that or it would get worse.

With as much care as he could manage, he positioned himself at the edge, rain gluing his hair to his skull. A drop of water trickled behind his eyepatch, over the uneven skin stretched tight across an empty socket. He must look like even more of a monster now, he realised, with the mess of scars on his skin. It didn't matter. It never had mattered. If the Games had done anything good, they'd shown him that there were people who could look past the scars. He let himself smile at that. The same thing that had destroyed his faith in humanity had been the one thing to give him hope in so long.

Sighing, he slipped over the edge and dropped to the ground, not bothering to swing this time. The floor flew up to meet him with a crash and he cried out. Pain didn't hurt any less just because he'd felt it before. Gasping for air, Bliric rolled onto his back. Dots swum across his vision, tempting him with the lure of oblivion.

Once he was out of the building, he could give in.

There wasn't a scrap of his body that didn't ignite with pain as he heaved himself to his feet. He hadn't broken any bones, as far as he could tell, but that was hardly any relief. Each heavy step sent a new wave of torture through him. He gritted his teeth and endured. It was only a few metres along the corridor, but it felt like a mile.

As the rain reached his face, Bliric collapsed onto rubble beneath a grey sky dominated by clouds. He finally let his eyes shut, and darkness took him easily.

* * *

Valkyrie gingerly prodded Ade's ankle and he inhaled sharply through clenched teeth as he pulled his foot close to him. The sudden movement made him swear loudly. Rolling her eyes, Valkyrie slumped back against the tunnel wall.

"We don't have to do this, you know," she said to the darkness where Ade hid.

"No… No, I need to know if it's serious."

Another whispered expletive as he eased his foot forward again. Valkyrie reached to him, her hands finding nothing but empty air. She ran her fingers along the ground until she met his leg. The darkness was more than a little irritating, but at least it meant that he couldn't see how much she'd been blushing.

That kiss! Her lips still tingled from it. That hadn't been a 'favour for a friend', that had been a _kiss_. He'd kissed her because he wanted to, and she'd kissed him back and her heart still soared when she thought of it. She didn't know what it meant, but she knew that it meant as much as any kiss could in the Games.

Her hands settled on Ade's foot again, tentatively pressing against the ankle to see if she could feel any signs of a break. She'd never had any formal first aid training – she only knew what she'd picked up from work. With the amount of injuries that happened at District Four's docks, that was quite a lot.

"It's not broken," she said. "There's definitely some swelling though – it's probably sprained."

She sat back again and heard Ade release a breath.

"We should try and bandage it," she continued. "Bandage it and try not to move too much."

"So we should just stay down here in the dark with nothing to keep us alive?" Ade scoffed.

Valkyrie frowned. "No, we've got to carry on moving. Just avoid putting too much pressure on it – lean on me or the wall or something while you walk."

When he didn't complain about that, Valkyrie set about acquiring a makeshift bandage. There were so many layers in her skirt that it took her a while to find one that wasn't sleek satin. She settled on one of the layers of petticoat and started to tear.

There was a quiet thump and Ade cried out. Valkyrie turned swiftly, heart racing.

"What the hell, Val?" Ade hissed.

"What? I didn't do anything?"

"You just hit my foot!"

"Why would I do that?"

A chill ran up Valkyrie's spine. Was there something else in the darkness? She couldn't tell – it seemed no different, just the endless black void that she'd been staring at for hours. All the sinister horrors that she'd envisioned waiting for her suddenly sprung to her mind again.

She shook her head and returned to Ade's foot to check it was okay. He'd probably just twinged the muscle again. As she did so, her hand brushed against something on the tunnel floor. With a yelp, she jumped back.

"What?" Ade asked, a hint of panic in his voice. "What is it?"

"There's something there," Valkyrie whispered.

"Where?"

"By your foot."

She heard him moving and squeezed her eyes shut, pressing herself against the wall. There was something in the dark. Something waiting.

Ade laughed, and the sound shocked Valkyrie more than anything else she'd been expecting.

"It's a torch," he said breathlessly. "A sponsor gift!"

Valkyrie's eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious?" she exclaimed. "This late in the…"

He turned on the torch, and the sudden light was blinding. Valkyrie's hand rushed to cover her face and she had to squint through the gaps between her fingers to make the harsh beam of light bearable. Ade's eyes were wide as he looked at the tunnel walls, but Valkyrie was still too dazzled to make out any detail beyond him.

"Valkyrie," he said, slowly moving the torch and cutting through the darkness. "Look."

She lowered her hand, and saw. A breath caught in her throat, and all she could do was stare. There was something ominous in the dark. The tunnels themselves.

Lining the walls were dozens upon dozens of alcoves, each filled with a rough stone coffin. There were inscriptions on some of them, illegible from wear. Spiders' webs and dust filled the gaps between wall and coffin, a macabre veil between the living and the dead. But that wasn't the worst of it. Ade swung the torch beam up, and even Valkyrie swore when she saw what it settled on. A long ledge cut just beneath the ceiling, crowded with yellowed bones that looked like they'd turn to dust if touched. Ribs, femurs, empty-eyed skulls, all rammed into the slot on the wall. The bones, the coffins, all stretched on forever into oblivion – the darkness that the torch's light couldn't penetrate.

"Catacombs," Valkyrie said, her voice little stronger than a whisper. "We've been in catacombs this whole time."

"They're not really bodies," Ade said, as much to himself as to Valkyrie. "Those coffins – I bet they're empty. And the bones – they're fakes, or animal bones or something. None of this is real."

Valkyrie nodded, trying to make herself believe him. It was hard to remember how much of the Games was fake. It all was, no matter how real it felt. The emotions, the blood – that was real, but the backdrop was no more than a film set made in the Capitol somewhere, no more than a year ago. Those skulls hadn't been trapped beneath the earth for centuries, they just looked that way.

Breathing in deeply, ignoring the crypt dust in the air, Valkyrie crouched down beside Ade and finished bandaging his injured foot. As she tied the last knot, making him wince, he placed his hand onto hers. She almost flinched away, but instead twined her fingers with his and pulled him to his feet. He took a few stumbling steps before resorting to leaning against her for support. She could feel his heartbeat as they set off into the darkness, and it helped to steady hers.

Around them, the dead slept. Valkyrie could barely go a minute without glancing at the walls and expecting a skeleton to come clambering out of its tomb. Ade was on edge as well, no matter how much he denied it. He held his revolver close to him, though Valkyrie couldn't help but doubt how useful the three bullets would be.

That was all they had. A torch, and a gun with three shots. It was hardly a game-winning inventory.

After walking for what felt like hours, the corridor widened ahead of them. Cautious but intrigued, Valkyrie began to head down the tunnel at a faster pace, winning a few complaints from Ade. The tunnel opened up into a circular chamber, stretching wide around them and high above. Coffins continued to circle them, and the bones reached into the dark above them. It seemed to be a central nexus for the tunnels – a crossroads. There were three other exits – tunnels to the left and right and a worn marble staircase ahead of them. Valkyrie barely noticed that though.

In the middle of the chamber was a statue of a woman, her face sorrowful. Wings stretched wide either side of her and a dress of stone draped from her shoulders. She was much taller than Valkyrie – taller than Ade – and there was such a sense of nobility and desperation to her chiselled features that Valkyrie couldn't help but stare. A golden spear glistened in the woman's hands, catching the light of the torch as Valkyrie scrolled the beam across the statue.

"You said you could use a spear, right?" Ade said with a smile.

Valkyrie nodded. "I can't take it though."

Ade raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you know a trap when you see one?" Valkyrie looked up into the blank orbs of the woman's eyes.

"It could be a gift." Ade squeezed her hand. "After all, someone must like us."

"We've already had a gift…"

"Val, if you don't take the spear then you're going to be defenceless. We're in the final five – I bet the other tributes have been building up supplies for ages!"

"I don't know…"

But even as she said it, she found herself walking towards the spear in the angel's hands. As she got closer, she could make out roses engraved in the metal, a fine leather grip round the shaft. This wasn't like the tied-together spears she was used to – it was a work of art. It was a trap, and she knew it, but this late in the Games they wouldn't just kill her. They'd give her a chance to survive. They had to.

Unless this was the chance, she thought as her hand hovered over the grip. This was the test, to resist the temptation.

Ade was right, she _needed_ that spear. If she didn't have a weapon, she'd die. It was that simple. If she wanted a chance, she'd have to take the risk.

Her shaking hand closed on the spear and she breathed in sharply. The metal trembled against the statue's hands as she lifted it off. Behind her, Ade smiled.

And then the noise began. A distant wailing, from down one of the passages. A sound both human and inhuman that made Valkyrie's skin crawl. Footsteps – heavy, resounding footsteps – getting closer and closer and…

"Val, we've got to get out of here."

Ade grabbed her arm and tried to pull her towards the staircase, but she was transfixed. Spear in one hand, torch in the other, she stared down the tunnel. The howling was getting louder, deeper. It was in her mind, in her blood.

"Val! Now!"

She forced her reluctant feet to move, to run with him, but as they approached the stairs a heavy portcullis slammed down before them. Ade recoiled, swearing. Valkyrie turned to the other tunnels, but they were blocked by metal bars as well. Her heart was pounding as she turned back to face the sound.

"I told you," she said, words tinged with tears. "It's a trap. It's a trap…"

"They want a fight," Ade said as he pulled himself taller, walking with a confidence that must have been hurting his foot. "We can do this. We can win."

A bullet clicked into the chamber of the revolver and he took the torch from Valkyrie. Her hands closed around the leather grip, still unsteady. Ade set the torch down on the statue's hand, the beam turned towards the echoing tunnel.

"Whatever happens…" Valkyrie said, swallowing sobs. "Thank you for everything." She widened her stance, standing like a fighter with the spear a diagonal line of gold before her.

Ade smirked, and stepped to her side. "Whatever happens, we're not going down without a fight."

Valkyrie nodded, and raised her eyes to the darkness.

She waited.

* * *

Morning never came. Or, if it did, it was so hidden behind the clouds that it may as well have been night. Ethine lay in the long grass and stared up at the tumultuous sky as rain splashed against her skin. She was drenched, her clothes heavy with rainwater and her sodden hair sticking over her eyes. Shivers ran through her, but she didn't pull herself up. After everything, she just wanted to be still. And she was for hours, drifting in and out of sleep and half-mad dreams. Smoke still stuck in her lungs and would snap her out of sleep, coughing and retching. She'd always fall back down again, throat burning and eyes brimming with tears.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, but eventually her strength returned to her. She rolled over, pushing herself up, and turned to look back at the mansion. The black shape of the ruins was a silhouette against the marbled clouds. Ashes swirled through it like lonely ghosts. Some had drifted to Ethine and clung to her wet dress, leaving it speckled. Water dripped from her skirt is small streams.

As her mind began to clear, she realised just how stupid she'd been to stay out in the rain. The cold bit to her bones and her teeth chattered furiously. She needed to find warmth and shelter, quickly.

She tried to click her fingers, but the water on her skin and her shaking hands and meant that they slid together ineffectually.

"Damn it," she hissed and clicked again and again.

It was like trying to get fire from wet wood. Try as she might, no flame burst to life above her hand. With an exasperated groan, she gave up. Salt tears bit her eyes, and she couldn't hold them back. She wanted to collapse again, just lie in the grass and cry, but knew that she couldn't. It was a miracle that she wasn't already hypothermic.

Was there anywhere she could go? There were probably parts of the mansion still standing that would offer some shelter, but would be very unsecure. It would be far too dangerous to return. There might be other places in the grounds. Her mind briefly flashed to the shack in the orchard where she'd killed Raylene, but she pushed that thought away. She couldn't go back there.

She thought of Key, of how much better this would be if he was still with her. She imagined him by her side, giving her his tattered jacket even though it would expose him to the rain. She thought of the warmth of his smile, the optimism in his words, and found that her hand had drifted to her shoulder to pull the spectral jacket closer. If she found him, there'd be no more of this noble staying apart. If she found him, she'd never let him go again. They'd be together until the end, just as they were always meant to be.

The thought of Key driving her to action, she trudged through the knee-high grass and back to the gravelled path that led away from what had been the main doors of the mansion. Sticking to the path was as good a plan as any if she wanted to find somewhere to go.

For the first time in the Games, she felt totally aimless. With the mansion gone, with the rain dousing her flames, it felt like the heart of everything had been torn away. There was nothing to do but wander and hope. She knew that it was little less than everything she'd done in the rest of the Games, but at least she'd had Key then.

She looked around the overgrown grounds of the mansion, and knew that the other tributes were out there somewhere. Were they as lost and alone as she was? She doubted that anyone was delighting in this.

There were only four others left now, and she had no idea who they were. Should she be scared of them? Had any of them become bloodthirsty killers? She almost hoped they had. That would make their deaths much easier to deal with. When she thought of them as innocents, just pieces in the game, the thought of them dying made her sick to her stomach.

Could any of them be truly innocent anymore? She knew that she certainly wasn't. She'd killed two people. They'd both attacked her first, but it was still her flames that had engulfed them, taken their lives. There had been a cannon during the fire. That was another death that she'd caused. Another life taken by the flames.

Out of all the tributes left, she doubted that any of them had killed as much as her. Did that make her a monster? Was she the villain of this tale? She couldn't be, not when she still saw those burning eyes in her nightmares.

She wanted there to be villains. She wanted there to be heroes. But neither could exist in this game.

Flickering lightning lit the clouds, illuminating a building in the distance as thunder rolled across the sky. Ethine stared at it in disbelief. A spire rose high, marking the building as a church. And it was completely intact.

Ethine broke into a run. She fought back another smoke-addled cough as the grass pushed back at her. Thistles hidden by shadow scratched at her legs, but it didn't slow her. She had to get to the church, get to shelter. Once she had that, she could provide the warmth for herself.

It wasn't a large church, but it was bigger than anything she'd expected to find. The walls were clad with the same gothic architecture that the mansion had worn – arches and buttresses and gargoyles poised to take flight. As Ethine burst from the grass back onto the path, she swore she saw something move on the roof. Realising it was just another lightning flash on a statue, she looked away.

It was hardly a welcoming building, but Ethine ran towards the doors as if they led to her family home. She threw them open and her steps stumbled to slow. The church echoed with the sound of rain on the rooftops, but somehow still felt silent. Dusty pews led to an altar cracked and broken. Faceless statues watched Ethine from alcoves, cobwebs draped from their limbs. The shadows were dark and heavy, like someone had caught the essence of night and trapped it within the stone. The place sent shivers through Ethine's spine, but it was still much better than the rain.

Water dripped from her skirt, darkening the stone floor as she walked down the aisle. Sconces set into the walls held candles marred with tears of wax. Ethine wiped her hands on her skirt though it did little to dry them. Releasing the flame powder, she clicked her fingers and threw her hands wide. Two flames burst to life either side of her and she spread her fingers, splitting each fire into smaller sparks. The tiny flames flew from her, each shooting towards a waiting candle wick. They caught and gradually the candles began to burn brighter, forcing back the darkness if only a little.

It was then that Ethine noticed the windows. Huge arched frames holding stained glass, their contents obscured by the darkness outside. Ethine's heart jumped as she counted them. There were twenty-four. She could already guess what the windows showed.

As if by cue, lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating the windows. It was more than enough time. Ethine recoiled from the one she was looking at, pulse thundering in her ears. The glass showed Raylene, blank white eyes staring into the church as flames ate at her body. Her red hair drifted around her, cut from the same glass as the fire, as if she were being born from the inferno rather than consumed.

Ethine staggered back into a pew, staring at the window although she could no longer see the colours. This place, it was a record of the deaths, of the tributes. It was a twisted monument to the Games.

Her hands clutched at the wood of the bench, shaking even more than they had in the rain. If these windows showed their fates accurately then she could find out…

Breathing in deeply, she stood up, waiting for another burst of light. She turned away from Raylene. If these were in order then District Three would be on the other side from District Seven. She still held onto the pew for support. Did she really want to see what that glass held? Wasn't it better if she…

The lightning made up her mind for her, breaking to show the portraits of District Three. Ethine's eyes widened in disbelief. Key, sword in hand, stood in his frame. A line of red was drawn across his neck, a red that matched the knife of the girl who stood beside him. Clair Tomison, his district partner, smiling a smile that would have been sweet if not for the white eyes that all the glass tributes had. If not for the bloodstained dagger in her hands.

Ethine let out a cry somewhere between horror, sorrow and rage. Key was dead. He'd died because she hadn't been there. If she hadn't left, she'd have fought, have protected… She couldn't look away from the darkness, the image of the twin portraits still burnt into her mind. Wasn't this what she'd wanted? For him to die without her having to watch? To never be in a situation where she'd have to kill him?

As a tribute, that's what she wanted.

As herself, it was the exact opposite.

Key, the brilliant boy who'd have done anything for her, was dead. And she knew who'd killed him.

Now, she had something to achieve. The goal was no longer just to survive. It was to get revenge.

* * *

On the roof, Clair waited. Her legs hung over the edge of the slate tiles, swinging in the falling rain. Around her, thunder pealed and lightning flashed, but she was dry. A forcefield hovered over her head like an umbrella, catching the rain and spilling it onto the roof.

Her hand was tight around her knife.

She'd seen Ethine go into the church, the girl who'd been Key's ally. The girl he'd sworn to protect in his interview. And – Clair imagined – the girl who'd made his eyes look so pained.

Clair knew she could have killed her from the roof, but she'd chosen to wait. Let Ethine find out. Let her know who'd killed her ally.

Clair wanted Ethine to fight.

* * *

**And we're back to 'I'm useless at updating!'**

**Sorry this took so long, I really have no excuse this time. I got distracted by some other projects, and this chapter proved surprisingly difficult to write. I'm not that happy with it, the writing's really awkward, so I might go back and edit it a bit later, but for now I just wanted to get the out there.**

**Only three chapters left of arena stuff now!**


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